


Knockdown

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [42]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Final preparations, showdowns, Regionals, and three boys who keep marchin' on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

Artie doesn’t exactly have a dog in this fight, but the material is a goldmine.

As much as he’s enjoyed his time in glee club, he doesn’t have any plans to continue it in college. It gives him a strong artistic background, true, but he’d rather be behind the camera than be on the stage. This showdown has been building for a long time; Artie’s been documenting it, because frankly, a showdown between two of the school’s reigning queens is exciting stuff, the kind of thing he can use in a script one day.

While the two of them are going at it, Artie takes notes, and by the time they’re storming off to separate corners, Artie’s already got the bones of a scene written. The dialogue was there, just gotta tweak some of the plot points. The only thing he’s still hung up on is motivation. Puck, he gets… of course Puck and Quinn have built up a lifetime of animosity between them. But Kurt? Artie can’t figure out exactly why Kurt is so eager to leap in to the fray, unless it’s just some sort of lingering dislike of Quinn from that time she and Finn were dating.

If Artie can just put a finger on their motivation, the scene will come together nicely.

 

“Oh, you’re driving your dad’s Avalon!” Tina grins. “What’s the occasion?”

“Taking my best girl out for a date to pre-celebrate our win at Regionals tomorrow isn’t an occasion?” Mike asks, leaning over for a kiss before opening the passenger side door for Tina.

Tina giggles, and Mike’s smile widens at the sound. “Someone’s confident, Mr. Chang.”

“How can I not be, with the lovely Ms. Cohen-Chang on vocals?”

“And the smooth dance moves you’re contributing?” Tina says.

“I certainly hope that they’ll help,” Mike has to acknowledge, climbing in the car and starting the engine. “It’s going to be interesting.” He shoots her a grin. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me yet.”

“Asked you what?”

Mike laughs. “It’s okay. I’ve known for a month or so. About Kurt and Puck.”

“Ohh, good.” Tina sighs with relief. “I just – it makes sense now, in retrospect, but I feel awful! All those times we must have crashed on them!”

“It’s true.” Mike shrugs. “They’re good-natured about it. I guess they kind of have to be, hiding it this long.”

“ _How_ long?” Tina asks.

“Since the summer!” Mike exclaims. “It makes a lot of things fall into place. Now it does, I mean.”

“I bet they’re excited about singing together tomorrow,” Tina says, a little wistfully. “Even if Finn’s singing, too.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.” Mike grins. “So how’s the school board thing going?”

“Taylor and Britt are coming over on Sunday afternoon to finalize a few things. I need to figure out who wants to speak. We can have up to eight speakers, so we need maximum effectiveness.”

“Who’s volunteered?”

“Kurt’s dad, Finn’s mom, Dave Karofsky, his dad, Casey, Kurt, Finn, Rachel, Santana, Taylor, Miles Brown, some of the underclassmen from PFLAG, Sam, you, me, Coach Beiste.”

“That’s a lot!”

“Yeah, it is!” Tina smiles. “So Sunday we’ll strategize as to who make the best choices to speak. It’s actually been a lot of fun!”

“Awesome.” Mike grins at her again as they park at Breadstix. “May I escort you to dinner, my lady?”

Tina giggles. “Of course, good sir.”


	2. Wasting Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different perspectives on bullying (also, big brass balls).

Dave grabs his backpack and shoulders it with a sigh. One more exam and he’s done with psychology, hopefully forever. He walks in through the garage and overhears Miles saying loudly, “How can you expect me to introduce you to my sister with an opinion like that?”

“’Cause you told me you’d let me meet her in March,” Rick counters. “It’s March.”

“I thought you had more fool sense in your head, Foots.” Dave walks into the kitchen to see Miles shaking his head, while Casey looks like he got dropped into a medieval torture chamber or something. 

“What’s going on?”

“ _David!_ ” Casey practically squeaks. “I am _so_ glad you’re back!” He mouths ‘save me’ when Rick and Miles look over at Dave.

“Foots here is being ridiculous. He thinks he has _thoughts_.”

“I’m allowed to have an opinion, _Brown_ ,” Rick says. “You sure don’t have any problem sharing yours.”

“Forty-five minutes,” Casey says. “That’s how long.”

“Ookay.” Dave walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a pop. “Case?” he asks, indicating the can. 

Casey nods, still looking stricken, and when Dave leans over to hand him a can, Casey whispers, “Kanye and Taylor Swift.”

Dave has a hard time not laughing out loud when he realizes Casey means that _that_ is what the other two have been fighting over. “Seriously, you two? Find a new argument, at least.”

“I just think it’s rude to interrupt a lady like that,” Rick says. “No class at all.”

“You’d think you’d appreciate that, Miles,” Dave says, amused. “Since your sister’s a lady and everything.”

Miles snorts. “Hmph. Rules are different for celebrities.”

“Just don’t see how you can defend it, is all,” Rick says.

“Make them stop,” Casey says. “Forty-five minutes, David.”

“You guys are wasting a perfectly good day free from class, you know that?”

“I feel traumatized.”

“ _And_ you’re traumatizing Casey.”

Rick has the decency to look a little ashamed of himself, but Miles just shrugs, clearly unconcerned with that fact. “Sure, Cherry. Sure we are.”

“You are. This conversation is awful. Also, dumb.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” Miles grins, like he’s planning something. 

“Um. So David, how were your classes?” Casey asks.

Dave snorts. “Last psych class. Such a relief.”

“I bet! Too bad you had to go on our off day, though. You missed out on all of this,” Casey says. “Isn’t it sad?”

“I’m devastated,” Dave says dryly. “Terribly. Though, I don’t know. Puckerman and Chang kept dancing in their chairs. I don’t think they realized it.”

Casey giggles. “Way more entertaining than being babysat by these guys.”

“I don’t babysit.” Miles looks affronted. “People pay to spend time with me.”

Rick snorts and Casey gives Miles a look that clearly says ‘oh, please, I’m on to you’.

“You know, Case, if we just knew what all was really going on at school, none of us would be concerned.” Dave shrugs and takes a drink of his pop. 

Casey glares at Rick, who tries to look innocent, and Miles, who just raises an eyebrow at Casey. “There’s nothing. How could there _be_ something? Somebody’s with me _all the time_ ,” Casey says. 

“You sure about that?” Dave says mildly. 

“People are always going to say stuff,” Casey says, with a small shrug. “Saying stuff can’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, that’s how it _starts_ ,” Dave argues, wincing a little. “And people shouldn’t say stuff, anyway.”

Rick shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “I know they’re giving you shit again, Casey. Johannson as much as said it to me in math, like he thought I’d think it was funny. ’S like he’s got brain damage or something.”

“The interesting thing,” Dave says slowly, “is that I’ve heard Coach Beiste is actually enforcing the bullying policy. Couple of people ended up in detention for stuff that they said _online_. Off school property.”

Casey starts fiddling with his hair, his eyes sliding off to stare at some random spot in the kitchen. “Who?” Miles demands, a gleam in his eye. “What’d they do?”

“Wasn’t it some freshman kid or something?” Rick says.

“Not exactly.” Dave fights not to smile. “Couple of seniors. Talked to the person who turned them in. Who wasn’t the target.”

“C’mon, dude, tell us, or we’re gonna start guessing. Right, Foots?” Suddenly, Rick is Miles’ ally, again, Dave figures.

“Uh, yeah. Right. What Brown here says.”

“Let’s see. You talked to the person who turned them in. Is that person in PFLAG?”

“Is he a guy or a girl? She a girl, I mean,” Rick says.

“Get back here, Case,” Dave says. “I see you trying to walk out of this room,” Dave adds, shaking his head with a grin. 

“I was just going—”

“Uh-huh. Stay put, Case. Drink your pop.” Casey balls up in his chair, looking sullen. Dave sighs. “Don’t spread names, but it couldn’t hurt for a few details to get out,” he addresses Miles and Rick. “Kurt’s the one that turned them in.”

Miles whistles. “That boy’s got big brass balls. But they weren’t bullying him?”

Dave shakes his head. “Turned in two people in glee club.”

“From glee? Really?” Casey looks interested. 

“I told you that boy’s got balls,” Miles chuckles. “Wait. You said _online_?”

“Yep.”

Miles breaks into a full-out laugh. “Damn. I bet I know why. And Beiste backed it up?”

“Yep.”

“But that’s online,” Casey says softly. “There’s, um. There’s proof.”

“It’s something,” Dave insists. “Yeah, it’s easier with documentation like that, but I bet Beiste would give everyone a fair shake. Not to mention, those guys are _idiots_.”

“Not everybody’s like Kurt, though,” Casey says. “Sometimes if you say stuff. Um. Worse stuff can happen.”

“Kurt did it anonymously. Well, and then he apparently went and told them anyway, but like Miles said—”

“Big brass balls,” Miles nods. 

“No, David, they’d _know_.”

“So they just get away with it?”

Casey shrugs slightly. “I’ve just gotta find a way to ignore them.”

“It doesn’t _work_ , Case.”

“Been bullied a lot, David?” Casey snaps. “Rick? Miles?”

“No, worse,” Dave looks at him levelly. “ _Believe_ me. I know how their minds work.”

“You don’t know what it’s like on my end. When I say something, it makes everything worse. It always makes everything worse.” Casey looks like he’s on the verge of crying, or possibly knocking something over. Maybe even both. 

“And when you ignore it, they just try harder to get a reaction. They keep trying and trying to get that reaction.”

“Then I’ll give them a reaction and they’ll leave me alone for a while!” 

“Case.” Dave shakes his head and sighs. “You don’t have to — you have just as much right to feel safe as anyone else at school.”

“School isn’t where you go to be _safe_ , David. You just go because you have to and, and, you just deal with the stuff you have to deal with,” Casey says. “If they get what they want, they leave me alone for a while. They always do.”

“No, school is a place where you _should_ be safe,” Dave counters. “And to just _let_ them, Case…” He trails off, closing his eyes briefly.

“Better me than somebody else.” 

Rick and Miles both look at Casey with worried faces, then up at Dave like ‘what the hell is he saying?’ or maybe like they think they’re misunderstanding him.

“Better no one at all!”

“It’s _always_ going to be someone,” Casey counters. “Always.”

“Then let it be someone else! Let it be – just let it be someone else!”

“I can handle it, David!” 

“No!” Dave says before he can stop himself. “You can’t!”

“Stop trying to save me, David!” Casey says, standing up. “You can’t fix everything!”

“I can damn well try!”

“Quit wasting your time on me!” Casey storms out of the kitchen and up the stairs, and Dave hears his door slam seconds later.

“Uh.” Rick’s eyes look like they’re going to bug out of his head. “I think I might have some place I gotta be. Now. Right now.”

 

Casey’s rifling through his drawers, looking for _something_ , he’s not even sure what, when he hears the gentle tapping on his door.

“NO!” he yells.

The tapping continues.

“GO AWAY!”

More tapping.

“FINE!”

The door opens slowly, and then David steps in and leans against the wall, without saying a word. 

“What?” Casey snaps at him, not even looking in David’s direction. He keeps pawing through his shirt drawer.

“Wasting my time?”

“Yes.” Casey keeps his head turned away from David. David doesn’t need to see him crying yet one more time. 

“Don’t I get to decide what is and isn’t wasting my time?”

“Not when it’s me,” Casey says. He gives up his search for… _whatever_ it is, and pushes the drawer closed a little too hard. 

“No, I think I still do.”

Casey sits down on the floor in front of his dresser, still not looking at David. “Well, maybe you’re a bad decision maker.”

David doesn’t respond, though Casey can hear his weight shift. 

“Why do you care, anyway?” Casey asks. “I think I’ve already caused you enough trouble, don’t you?”

“No,” David says simply. 

“Well. Well. _Why not_?” Casey swipes his hand across his eyes and sneaks a glance over his shoulder at David. David looks like he’s contemplating something, a math problem or a crossword puzzle, but his face is calm. 

“Because I don’t,” David says flatly. 

“Oh.” Casey sniffles a little. “Well. Fine.”

David shrugs a little and slides down the wall, sitting against it. “Real question is, why do you think you’re a waste of time. Which, I can’t answer.”

Casey scoots ever so slightly in David’s direction. “Well, why not?”

“Um.” David looks at him funny. “Because I have no idea why you think that?”

“Look at all the awful stuff you got stuck with, David. Because of me.”

“I didn’t get ‘stuck’ with anything. Understand? I choose to be here, Case.”

“I feel like… all you wanted to do was help me out and be my friend, and then it’s all,” Casey makes a noise, the sound of an explosion, with the accompanying explosion hand gestures. “All over you, all over the place. Like a landmine.”

“And again, I choose to be here.”

“But _why_?” Casey finds himself scooting even closer to David. 

“Why does anyone choose their friends, Case? I’m here, and you’re worth my time.”

“I don’t understand why,” Casey says. “I don’t.” He realizes he’s pretty much scooted all the way to David without noticing it, so he just gives it up and moves until he’s sitting right next to him. “I make you sad.”

“You make me sad when you don’t… when you act like you’re not worth anything.” David sighs. “ _You_ as a person? That doesn’t make me sad.”

Casey leans his head over on David’s arm. “Well.”

“Well indeed.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Casey says. “That was awful. I’m sorry.”

“’S okay. But I _do_ want to know, Case.”

“I know you do,” Casey sighs. “I know. If anything happens, I’ll tell you, okay? Just. It happens a lot, and I don’t know if there’s really anything anybody can do.”

“Let’s at least let them try, before we give it up as a lost cause?”

“Okay, David. If you think so.”

“I do think.” There’s a small smile on David’s face and his hand comes down on Casey’s shoulder. “Except for when I’m trying to avoid it.”


	3. 3x23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final preparations, showdowns, Regionals, and three boys who keep marchin' on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all started because Patch wanted to know how the boys got from "Perfect Gift" to "Commencing." The opening scene in "Commencing"? It falls during this episode. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Playlist for 3x23 "Knockdown"](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL137E7A64BC6CB74A)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Continued thanks to **david_of_oz** for his keen editorial eye!

The drive between the airport in Columbus and McKinley never felt so quick, in Puck’s opinion. Not that he’s made the trip often, but it seems to him like the two hours goes very fast. They reach the outskirts of Lima after fourth period’s already started, and Puck isn’t sure who will be the most upset about their continued absence from rehearsal. 

“More coffee?” Kurt asks, pulling into the McDonald’s along the way, and Puck nods. 

“I think we need it.”

“Definitely.”

When they park at McKinley, Puck walks around to the driver’s side, away from the building, and pushes Kurt against the Nav, kissing him thoroughly, mouths open and everything a little sloppy. Puck’s not ready for this, not ready to put their masks back on and to go back to countdowns and waiting. He’s not sure he can, not after New York and people that know and even Kurt’s teasing, sing-song ‘Noo-ahhh’, because how could anyone?

The halls are quiet as they head towards the choir room, and Puck knows they’re walking too close and grinning too widely as they laugh about Kurt looking ready for a club and not class, not even dual enrollment. The choir room’s empty, though, and they head towards the auditorium, going in through the backstage doors and listening as they set down their bags and remove their coats. 

“We’ll keep going,” Schue says over the bridge between ‘Waiting On the World to Change’ and ‘Marchin’ On’. “Just hum or something.”

Puck exchanges a smirk with Kurt as Finn starts to sing, and they watch from far off the stage. When it reaches the part where Puck comes in, they grin at each other one last time and Puck steps forward slightly, picking it up over the very awkward humming Schue’s attempting to lead the rest of them in doing. The rest of the club falters for a second before they keep going, and Kurt bumps his shoulder against Puck’s, just barely, as they walk onto the stage and try to slide into the choreography. 

Finn, for his part, can barely keep singing due to the giant grin on his face, let alone keep in sync with the choreography. The rest of the song is stumbling, at best, but they make their way through to the end of the music, at which point Puck and Kurt find themselves the main attraction. 

Finn flings one arm around Kurt’s shoulders and the other around Puck’s, and pulls them both against him in one of his overly–enthusiastic hugs. “I missed you guys,” he mumbles into the tops of their heads, before letting them mostly go. He keeps an arm over their shoulders, but at least the smothering hug stops.

“Welcome back!” Schue says. “That was quite an entrance.”

“You just haven’t lived until you’ve slept in the airport,” Puck answers, even though it doesn’t really have much to do with what Schue said. 

“How were the thingies? How was the flight? Did you _bring me anything?_ ” Finn asks. 

“What all did you see? Was it cold still?” Rachel asks, like she can’t help herself.

“That’s quite the outfit, Kurt,” Artie says. “You, too, Puck. They lose your luggage?”

“It was the only thing I had that was clean,” Kurt says with a slight roll of his eyes. “I had this laundered after Saturday night.”

“Nothing wrong with my outfit,” Puck insists.

“You were driving Burt _crazy_ ,” Finn says. “Seriously, that was _awesome_ with the foursquare. I thought he was gonna, like, poop kittens or something.”

“I’m sure he was thrilled when I started checking-in after 10:30 on a Saturday night.”

“He made me Google that place you went,” Finn says, laughing. “ _Not_ happy.”

“Where _did_ Kurt go, Finn?” Mike asks with a grin. 

“Oh, I dunno that I can say,” Finn says. “You should ask Kurt. I mean, it was probably, like, a _religious_ experience or something.” 

Puck snorts at the bad pun and Kurt laughs. “I was merely enjoying Chelsea nightlife.”

“So what you’re saying is you went to a gay club,” Santana drawls. “Right?”

Kurt shrugs slightly and twirls in place. “What do you think?”

“That does look sort of like a possibility,” Sam interjects. “Was it fun?”

“Terribly.” Kurt flashes him a grin.

“I’m going to come visit you and we can dance every night,” Brittany says. 

“Okay, Brittany,” Kurt agrees. 

“I still want to know what’s wrong with my outfit,” Puck says mildly.

“I think your shirt shrank,” Artie says. “It happens.”

“Personally, I’m just objecting to your hat.” Tina shrugs when they turn to look at her. “What? I do not like the Evil Empire.”

“Oh good, baseball wars this spring,” Mike says with a small smile. “What? We need more drama.”

There are some scattered groans, and Schue claps his hands. “All right, guys. I think we’ll stop for today. Let’s try to get in one run-through during lunch tomorrow!”

Finn rolls his eyes, but keeps his comment quiet enough for only Puck and Kurt to hear. “Super-helpful, dude.”

Everyone nods, though, and Puck turns to the backstage again, scooping up his abandoned backpack and coffee as Kurt does the same. “We should go talk to our teachers for the first three periods really quick,” Kurt says to Finn, “but then lunch?”

“I love lunch!” Finn says. “I’ll even take surprise mushrooms.”

“How about surprise Joey’s?” Puck interjects. “We slept in an airport, dude.”

“I love surprise Joey’s!” 

Finn trails along with them while they visit their classes, and no one gives them any trouble, though their physics teacher reminds them that she needs everything turned in by Friday because she’ll be out for six weeks starting in a week. They pile into the Nav after that and swing by Joey’s before pulling up in front of the Hudmel house, both Puck and Kurt letting out a small sigh. 

“Glad to be home, huh?” Finn asks. “You can shower and stuff!”

Puck looks over at Kurt, who half–shrugs. “And stuff,” Puck repeats, nodding slightly. “Help us drag all the luggage in?”

“You guys go in. I can haul all this stuff,” Finn offers. “Seriously. Go eat. Shower. I’ll be the pack mule.”

“At least he doesn’t want a tip,” Kurt says with a grin as they climb out.

“Never said I didn’t want a tip!”

“Don’t buy tickets for the Empire State Building for 3 am.” Puck smirks a little. “There, a tip.” 

“Oh, ok. Yeah, that’s good to know,” Finn says, opening up the back of the Nav and pulling out the luggage. “Go and eat. Seriously, you guys look all droopy.”

“All right, all right,” Kurt responds, shaking his head, and they go in to do just that, pulling out their food from the Joey’s bag while Finn clomps in and out of the house several times. “Bring the satchel here, Finn,” Kurt calls on the last trip.

“Which one’s Satchel?”

“The one with the u–shaped zipper on the top.”

“Oh. I thought that was a baseball player. Ok, sure,” Finn says, hauling the satchel into the kitchen and placing it in front of Kurt. “Your satchel.”

“Thought you’d be interested in the contents, actually.” Kurt unzips it and starts pulling out small, tissue–wrapped bundles. They totally plundered the hotel bathroom before they left for packing material, but as Kurt pointed out, they would have thrown out the rest of the box, anyway. 

“New York presents? I love New York presents!” Finn says.

“First, a book. Since we spent so much there for Hannah, we thought you’d like something, too.” Kurt smiles sweetly and hands it over to Finn. 

Finn tears the tissue paper off the book and starts laughing as soon as he sees the title. “ _Dance_? Seriously? I think eight–year–old girls probably do dance better than me, so I guess it might be helpful!”

“We thought about a different one,” Puck laughs, pulling out his phone and finding the picture before showing it to Finn. “I mean, you aren’t a girl, but.”

“ _A Smart Girls’ Guide_ … to boys? Really, you guys?” Finn laughs again. “Though, I could have, like, read it during glee club. That would have been funny. Anyway, I don’t think guys are that complicated, not enough to need a book, anyway. Like, a pamphlet, maybe. _So you like boys, huh?_ would be a good pamphlet name.”

“We’ll get right on recommending that to Ms. P,” Puck says solemnly. 

“And now the rest.” Kurt starts setting shot glasses in front of Finn. “One. Two. Well, a lot.”

“Uh. That’s, like, a _lot_ of shot glasses. Oh, look at that one!” Finn says, picking up the Hard Rock shot glass. “Hard Rock! Oh, look! Empire State Building! Ooh, where’d you get this one?”

“Circle Line cruise,” Puck answers after a quick look. 

“I don’t even know what that is, but I love it!” Finn says, carefully pulling all the shot glasses in front of him. “So many tiny glasses. This is awesome, guys, just really, very awesome!”

“Count your blessings that you don’t, yet,” Puck replies, shaking his head. 

“We’re certain you will at some point. Equally certain we’re going to know it too well.”

“Also true,” Puck groans. 

“Well, when I come visit, you can take me on it or something,” Finn says, rearranging the shot glasses. “You can show me all this stuff. I’ll be all touristy and you guys can be bored because you’ve seen it all before, but you’ll take me to all of it anyway, right?”

“And that was pretty much exactly what we said.” Puck laughs. “Except we figured once would be enough for you.”

“Dad will probably want to take the same tours every time.”

“I won’t even want them once if you hate them,” Finn promises. “But if you can stand them, then just the once.”

“Maybe in the summer.” Kurt pretends to shiver, but then, it might not be pretending, since he’s still wearing his clothes from the club and not anything clean from home. Food comes first, in the end.

“Whenever. Any time, you know? Just, let me know when I should visit and I’ll visit. And we don’t have to do touristy stuff if you guys don’t want to,” Finn says. 

“I actually thought about writing something down for the rest of the club, for May,” Kurt admits. “We didn’t really see that much last year.”

“We saw a lot of Times Square. And the hotel.”

Finn snorts. “Oh, I bet.”

“I meant last year, perv.”

“Well, I meant this year, so deal with it!”

“No comment,” Kurt grins, finishing his pop. “I think I should change clothes before class.”

“You might end up with the prof psychoanalyzing your clothing choice,” Puck laughs. 

“You guys are weird. You look just fine,” Finn says. 

“I look better than fine, actually,” Kurt retorts. “But it’s almost freezing here, and I have no sleeves.”

“Yes, you do.” Puck smirks. 

“You could wear what _you_ wore Saturday night.”

“I thought we decided Lima wasn’t ready for that.”

“Hmm. Probably not.” Kurt trails his fingers over the back of Puck’s neck and kisses his cheek before heading up the stairs. 

“Wait, what’d you wear?” Finn asks. 

“This T-shirt,” Puck begins, grinning. “Kurt’s white boots. And some pants.”

“Well, some’s better than none, I guess. I mean, if you’re going out places. Which pants?”

“Um.” Puck laughs. “Luckily for you, there’s photographic evidence, because they should really be seen, not described.” He finds the picture and hands the phone over with a grin. 

Finn looks at the picture on the phone, then turns the phone sideways and looks some more, then seems to realize he’s _still_ looking at the phone, and quickly hands it back to Puck. “Uh. Those are pants. Wow. Yeah.”

“See? Lima’s not quite ready for that.”

“Depends on which part of Lima,” Finn mumbles under his breath.

“But it was fun,” Puck continues with a shrug. “Even if we probably did give Burt a heart attack.”

“Naw, he was ok. Just, uh, a little flustered or whatever.”

“Yeah, good thing he wasn’t there.” Puck laughs. “It’s probably the stuff of nightmares for him.”

“Those… pants,” Finn nods in agreement. “Yeah.”

Puck snorts. “Not just the pants. A whole building full of guys in similar outfits.”

“Hmm. Like a pack of zebras,” Finn says. 

“I think you just called me a zebra.”

“Well, I was just thinking of, like, a whole bunch of people in those pants. It would be like zebras, hard to pick one set of legs out from another one, right?”

“I said _similar_ , not the same!” 

Kurt reappears then, actually wearing the same pants but with a sweater and scarf, and he drops into Puck’s lap. “What’s similar?”

“Zebras, apparently.” Puck shrugs. 

“Are you going to change?”

“Nah. Not yet, anyway.”

“We should probably head out,” Kurt points out. “Schue didn’t really let us out that much earlier.”

“Hey, it’s just a few more months, guys,” Finn says. “You’ll be back home soon, ok?” He pats Puck and Kurt on the shoulder. 

“How many again?” Puck raises his eyebrow.

“One forty-nine.” Kurt shrugs. “We broke one-fifty.”

“True.” Puck nods at Finn, and Kurt slides off his lap slowly. 

“Thanks, Finn. And don’t forget your tiny glasses.” 

“I probably won’t bring them back to school,” Finn says. “I think they frown on that.”

“Only if they’re filled.”

“Would make school more tolerable, dude.”

“That, brother dear, would be the part upon which they would frown,” Kurt points out, digging in the refrigerator for three more cans of pop and handing one to each of them. “Viva la caffeine.”

 

Puck half–pays attention in math before going to see the piano guy, who decides that after that day, Puck’s done for the quarter, no final necessary. He waits in the Nav for Kurt before they go back to Kurt’s house to start the process of unpacking. 

“I don’t like this,” Kurt says quietly, sitting down on the bed and staring at the piles they’ve managed to make. “It feels wrong.”

“It does,” Puck agrees, because their stuff was just… theirs. And it was bad enough separating everything out after Chicago, but this feels worse, probably because he spent almost two weeks living in Kurt’s room before they even left. “It’s awful.”

They’re not going to sleep that night; Puck’s not sure it’s even worth trying. Kurt exhales shakily and stands back up. “I suppose we should finish.”

They head towards Puck’s well before dinner, and Puck puts his stuff away before collapsing on the sofa with Kurt. Kurt’s eyes close as he slumps against Puck and Puck doesn’t think he realized before how quickly it was possible to go from happy and content to pretty close to miserable. Even resting, Kurt looks tired and stressed, like his skin doesn’t fit right. Puck figures he doesn’t look any better. Artie sees clothes that are shrunk. Puck just feels like nothing fits _except_ maybe the clothes that he still has on, that and Kurt curled up against him.

Puck figures he must’ve drifted after a point, because he doesn’t hear the door open or anything prior to Hannah bouncing excitedly in front of him. “Noah! You’re home! Hi Kurt! What did you bring me?”

“Let them wake up,” Rina calls from behind the sofa, and Kurt stretches a little, straightening, while Puck blinks. 

“Hey, squirt.”

“Was it _awesome_?”

Puck laughs and Kurt grins. “Yeah, it was,” Puck answers her. “How was Lima?”

“Boring as usual. Oh, Samantha Tweed broke her arm in gym class.”

“See, that’s exciting.”

“Not really.” Hannah rolls her eyes. “What did you bring me?”

“Impatient?” Kurt laughs. “Should we give it to her now, Noo-ahh?”

“Stop that,” Puck laughs in return. “And I guess. We could. If Hannah’s sure she’s ready.”

“I’m ready! I’m ready!” Hannah giggles. “Please, Noah!”

“Okay, okay,” Puck nods and stands, walking into his room to grab a large bag. Hannah’s eyes get big when she sees it. 

“American Girl? You went to the American Girl store? Mom! MOM! Noah and Kurt went to the AMERICAN GIRL STORE!”

“I guess Allison was right,” Kurt shrugs. “Little girl crack.”

“Apparently.” 

Hannah’s still jumping in place, now reduced to incoherent screams punctuated with “American Girl!” periodically. 

“Guess we should have tried to be sneakier,” Puck concludes. “She doesn’t even know what it is, yet.”

“Can I see? Can I?”

“Sure.” Puck reaches in and pulls out the T-shirt on top, tossing it at her. 

“Hard Rock! This is awesome! Mom, can I wear this tomorrow to school?”

“Is it better than a free hat?” Kurt asks, looking very amused.

“So much better!” Hannah answers, flinging her arms around Puck and then Kurt. 

“So why don’t you look in the bag now,” Puck teases her.

“Okay!” Hannah grabs for it, staring inside. “Oh wow, it’s so pretty!” She pulls out the outfit on the top and runs towards her room, probably to put it on. 

“Told you she’d like it,” Kurt whispers, nudging Puck in the side. 

“I didn’t doubt you,” Puck points out, sliding his arm around Kurt’s waist and tugging him closer. 

“No. You never do.” Kurt rests his head on Puck’s shoulder, and then Hannah comes running back in, twirling for them. Rina enters the room and comments on the outfit, plus the one still in the bag, and then the four of them are fixing dinner. Puck tries for about three minutes not to give in to the need to stay in physical touch with Kurt, then just goes with it, ignoring the slight roll of Rina’s eyes. 

When Hannah heads to dance class, Puck pulls Kurt down onto the bed with him, and they manage some sleep before Kurt has to leave to make his curfew. When Puck locks the door behind Kurt, he heads towards the kitchen to warm up some leftovers, and once Kurt texts that he’s home, it’s time to start on homework.

Sleep’s not going to come, so why expect it to?

 

Kurt slides the pan into the oven and shakes his head at himself. He was up anyway; it seemed like a logical thing to do. The next day was already going to suck without any sleep, and at least this way they’ll have something to eat for lunch. 

“Hey, buddy,” Burt says, appearing in the doorway. “I thought I heard someone banging around in here.”

“Hi, Dad.” Kurt smiles slightly. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Burt says, pulling out a chair to sit. “I was awake anyway.”

Kurt grabs the orange juice out of the refrigerator and pours two glasses, sliding one in front of Burt before taking a seat himself. “Seems like juice is appropriate after midnight,” he says lightly. 

“I don’t think I’m likely to turn into a Gremlin, anyway,” Burt agrees.

“I’ll wash those dishes up in a few minutes.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it too much,” Burt says. “I can probably convince Finn he’s the one who left them there.”

“He might realize he didn’t make any lasagna, though.”

“This is _Finn_ we’re talking about here, Kurt.”

“Vegetable lasagna, Dad,” Kurt points out with a grin.

“Ah. Well, I guess you’ve got a point.”

“Anyway. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“No, it’s fine. I was up. So,” Burt says. “Tell me about this place you went on Saturday night.”

Kurt stifles a grin and takes a drink of his juice before starting to respond. “It’s an eighteen and over club. In Chelsea.”

“So your brother told me when he Googled,” Burt says, frowning. 

“Don’t worry, they don’t let the people under twenty-one drink. Only the green wrist-bands get alcohol.”

“Mmhmm,” Burt says. “You out pretty late?”

“We were,” Kurt nods. “It was fun. A lot of fun.”

“Well, that’s… nice.”

“It really was.” Kurt fiddles with his glass, trying to figure out how to explain it to his dad. “Sometimes it’s nice to blend in a little, actually.”

Burt nods. “Yeah. I guess that would be pretty nice.”

“And, well. We didn’t have to be up that early, so.” Kurt shrugs. “We took a taxi, so we were back at the hotel by just around 2, I think.”

“Probably a hard transition back to Lima, huh?” Burt asks.

“It is,” Kurt acknowledges, not really sure if his dad understands completely or not. It’s not just Lima, it’s the empty pillow next to him and the easy way they could be there, ripped and pushed aside here. “It really is,” he repeats, softer.

“It’s not permanent, kiddo,” Burt says. “You’re gonna get out of here and have this great life, and all of this is gonna seem like nothing.”

“That’s the plan,” Kurt says lightly. 

“Not that much longer, kid.”

“I must look wretchedly depressed today.” Kurt forces a laugh. “Or yesterday and today? Depends on if we’re counting this as Monday or Tuesday.”

“You’ve looked perkier,” Burt confesses. “I’m glad you’re home, but I can see it’s hard on you.”

“Mmm. Sometimes I think it was easier when I didn’t really know what it would be like.” Kurt shrugs. “Don’t forget to vote in the morning.”

“What am I voting for, again?”

“Dad.” Kurt sighs. “Stop it. I know you know.”

“This is, what? School board?”

“Admittedly, it’s not like the outcome of the one we’re voting in is in doubt,” Kurt plows ahead, rolling his eyes at the ‘school board’ comment. “But it’s still important. I’ll drag Finn with us before rehearsal.”

“I’m sure he’ll enjoy that,” Burt says. “Your brother the patriot.”

“I’ll bribe him with promises of stickers.”

“Somehow I think that might actually help.”

Kurt laughs and drains his glass. “Maybe. If not, there’s always coffee.”

“As long as you’ve got something to motivate him, I guess.”

“Exactly.” Kurt rolls his shoulders. “Toledo again tomorrow. The travel never stops.”

“That’s life, Kurt. Never stops.”

 

Puck and Finn are both still carrying coffee when they leave a shortened rehearsal and head to history on Tuesday morning. Puck feels like he’s barely slept, because it’s true; airport plus four hours before midnight is not enough sleep by any stretch of the imagination. 

“I feel so patriotic,” Finn keeps saying. “I’m part of the American political process.”

“We’ll get you a flag shot glass next time,” Puck grumbles, sitting down in his usual desk. “Or maybe an eagle. You want an eagle?”

“I hope I voted for the right guy!” Finn says. “I was supposed to vote for the president, right?”

Puck chuckles for a moment. “Only name on our ballot, dude.”

“Well, then I did it right,” Finn says. “That’s good. I don’t want Kurt to be mad at me.”

“No,” Puck agrees. 

“I mean, I’d probably have voted for the president anyway,” Finn says, “but I _really_ don’t want Kurt to be mad at me. He’s, like, way more important than the president. To us, anyway.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah. There is that.”

Before Finn can answer, Mrs. Vey starts talking, asking how many of them have voted or are planning to vote. Brittany’s hand shoots up.

“I voted!” Brittany says. “It was fun. I wanted to go again, but they told me no. They gave me a second sticker, though,” she says, modeling the strategically placed I OHIO VOTING sticker on each side of her chest. 

“I got confused,” one of the guys in the front row says. “Too many names. And I thought some of them dropped out already?”

“Mine only had one name,” Brittany says, looking confused. “Maybe you voted in the wrong place.”

“It depends on which party’s primary you voted in, Britt,” Puck says gently. “Democratic or Republican.”

“Oh, I think they voted in the wrong one,” Brittany stage–whispers back. “Too many names. _Mine_ had the president on it. That was the right one.”

“No, that was the _left_ one,” the same guy snarks before Mrs. Vey interrupts. 

“All right, that’s enough, but yes, the two parties do have separate primaries, held on the same day. This year, the Democrats have just the President on their primary ballot, and the Republicans have many candidates.” 

 

Puck walks from English towards the auditorium with his phone out, returning Kurt’s text that he and Finn are getting the food for PFLAG from Carole, and he’s still putting the phone away when he steps onto the stage. 

“Puck too! I’m so jealous,” Tina says mournfully. “Four days!”

“Four days what?” Puck asks blankly.

“Four days short of being eighteen.”

“Oh, yeah.” Puck nods. “Yeah, it’s kind of cool.”

“Well, I don’t know if _cool_ is the right word for it,” Quinn interrupts. 

“You don’t like participating in electing people?” Puck asks coolly, raising his eyebrows.

“I just don’t know why you’d be so proud of participating in such a farce of an election,” Quinn snaps. “Only one name on _your_ ballot, right?”

“Well, let’s see,” Puck says slowly. “I’m a poor g-Jewish kid, how do you think I vote?” He winces a little but then just looks at her expectantly. 

“Careful, Puckerman,” Santana interjects, sliding close to him and whispering in his ear for a second. “Your queer is showing.” Puck snorts his agreement. 

“Well, I guess when you grow up on handouts, you wouldn’t want them taken away, would you?” Quinn asks. “Some people prefer to work for what they have, though.”

Puck laughs. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from _you_. Have you _ever_ worked, Quinnie?”

“My parents worked. They paid taxes. Once I’ve graduated from college, I’ll work, too,” Quinn says, primly.

“Oh, you will?” Puck scoffs. “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t know how to get a job if it bit you in the ass.”

“Just because I don’t have to work a minimum wage job in high school doesn’t mean I won’t be prepared for a _career_ ,” Quinn says. 

“Wait, let’s back up. Your _parents_ worked? Don’t you mean your daddy?” Puck narrows his eyes at her. “Hey, let’s be honest here, since we’re dragging hard work through the mud. What was it you always said? ‘Finn, I need money. Puck, I need money. Go get a job. You go get a job’.”

“Well, I didn’t get _myself_ in trouble,” Quinn says. “You were the one plying me with wine coolers, Puck. The least you could do was pay to take care of _your_ mistake.”

Puck starts to scoff, then tightens his jaw and closes his eyes for a moment, pictures of Beth alternating with the satisfying thought of punching Quinn in the jaw. “Because being _pregnant_ means you can’t work?” He sneers at her. “Yeah, I said it out loud. Beth. Beth. Beth.”

“Shut _up_ , Puck,” Quinn snarls. “I don’t know what your problem is, but there’s no reason to be dragging all of that out. You have _no_ right to talk about her.”

“I have _every_ fucking right to talk about her. More than you do.”

“ _I_ gave birth to her. I carried her. Me, not you!” Quinn says. “I’m the one whose body was ruined, who lost her family. I’m the one who lost everything. What did you do? Cleaned pools and fucked women old enough to be your mother!”

“Yeah, it’s all about your _body_ , isn’t it? All about trying to erase her. You know what? You can’t erase a person.” 

“I can _try_ ,” Quinn shrieks back at him.

“Yeah?” Puck’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, reaching into his pocket, and then there’s a loud bang as one of the doors flies open and Finn bodily puts himself between Puck and Quinn.

“Ohhhkay, Puck, you’re coming with me!” Finn says, grabbing Puck by the arm. 

“Hand me the phone,” Kurt’s voice is next to him suddenly, and Puck blinks, because oh, was that what he was reaching into his pocket for? “You don’t want to show her those,” Kurt adds in a lower voice, and Puck nods, dropping his phone into Kurt’s hand. 

“What does any of this have to do with _you_ , Kurt?” Quinn says. “Finn, sure, I can understand. But you?”

Finn nearly drags Puck towards the door. “Come on, dude. Seriously. Kurt’s got this. Let him do his thing, ok?”

“Watching,” Puck mumbles.

“Then watch quieter,” Finn says, pulling Puck down into a set of chairs.

“You know what you need,” Kurt proclaims, turning towards Quinn but not answering her question. “You need _help_.”

“Thanks, but I’ve seen your makeover jobs, sweetie. Save the blue eyeshadow for the trash who deserves it.”

Kurt’s eyes roll so hard that they practically disappear. “Therapy, Fabray. You need a nice long sit–down chat with someone with a prescription pad. You need to stop trying to make other people feel miserable so you can feel better for just a few lousy seconds. And you need to stop trashing the people that I care about, which happens to be, oh, most of the people in this room.” He simpers at her for a moment. “If you take my meaning.”

“Funny, I always thought you _liked_ being on our side, Kurt,” Quinn says. “But this year it’s all different, isn’t it? This year you think you’re some kind of big man like the rest of them? Well, let me tell you what, you’re just the same spoiled little princess with stupid–looking shoes that you were last year and the year before.”

“Pity. I didn’t have my phone recording that. You want to repeat it?” Kurt looks almost bored, but his eyes are hard, and Puck shivers a little at the look in them. “It’s so much harder to make a complete report this way.”

“You’re the one who turned us in about that? _You_?”

“Did you think I’d say it was okay to bully someone who was white and,” he pauses for the barest of seconds, and probably no one else notices, except maybe Finn, “straight?” He shakes his head. Next to Puck, Finn makes a little noise of an indeterminable nature. It could be a snort, a laugh, that weird strangled sound he makes, or some tiny combined version of all three. Puck elbows him, refraining barely from rolling his own eyes. “I may be many things, Quinn, but I do try hard not to be a hypocrite.” Kurt sweeps his eyes up and down Quinn dismissively. “I doubt you’d understand the meaning of that.”

“I can’t understand why you suddenly think _this_ ,” Quinn says, waving her hand vaguely in Puck’s direction, with a gesture towards herself as well, “has anything to do with you.”

“I want to know why you think you get to be bitchy to almost everyone in this room.” Kurt shrugs carelessly. “We don’t always get what we want. I’m sure you’ll understand – oh, no, I don’t suppose you would.”

“Yes, Kurt, because I always get exactly what I want.”

“Mmm, well. That’s your problem, not mine. I just don’t think you’re quite capable of understanding basic emotion, but that’s probably not your fault.”

“Go to hell, Kurt!” Quinn says.

“Oh, I’m sure you already think I am. Luckily for me, I don’t believe in it.” Kurt’s face is totally calm, as if he could care less about Quinn and what she’s saying, and Puck almost falls for it himself, but he sees the slight curve of Kurt’s fingers, the tiny lines around the eyes, and he knows it’s all just a facade, but a damn good one. Puck thinks it’s too bad Kurt couldn’t send this in as an audition.

Quinn doesn’t seem to have a response to that. She stands there with her nostrils flaring and her fists clenching and unclenching, before she finally settles on, “Well I guess it’s no mystery why _you’re_ single, then.”

Kurt just laughs. “Aren’t you, Quinnie? At least I could say there aren’t as many options around here. What’s your excuse?” He shakes his head. “Point, game.”

“You don’t know the first thing about my life, and it’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Exactly.” He smiles harshly at her. “So why is mine yours? Why is any of ours yours? You pick and you prod and you bitch, but you can’t stand a little scrutiny. Some advice, free of charge? Grow up, Quinn.”

Quinn lets out a little squawk of protest, but doesn’t respond to Kurt. She does, however, march out of the classroom in a huff, everyone else staring after her as she goes. Mercedes moves like she’s going to follow her, glaring at Kurt—probably because of the bullying report, still—but Sam puts his hand gently on Mercedes’ wrist and shakes his head. 

“That was hot,” Tina breathes from where she’s standing next to Mike, not far from Puck and Finn. “It’s really too bad he’s not even a little bit bi.”

Puck snorts back a laugh. “Yeah, not even a little bit. _Totally_ was.”

Finn kind of nods and shrugs, like he’s agreeing with Puck. 

Tina blinks for a moment, dismissing Finn after a few more seconds, and then looking at Puck appraisingly. “Oh. OH!”

Puck raises his eyebrows and meets her gaze, and she grins suddenly. “That makes so much sense now!”

“Shhh,” Puck says, a little exaggeratedly, and Tina giggles and nods. 

“I can’t believe you did that!” Mercedes’ strident tones echo suddenly, and Puck looks up to see her stalking towards Kurt. “ _You_ turned us in for _bullying_?”

“Were you, or were you not, at the last PFLAG meeting, Mercedes?” Kurt’s mouth is pinched into a thin line, and Puck chews on his own lower lip. This has the potential to be bad. 

“You know I was!”

“So did you decide it was only wrong to bully if you liked the victim?”

“You’re making something big out of it. It wasn’t big.”

“That’s for the administration to decide, isn’t it? But I think most of us saw your words. I’m not sure in what world tearing someone down over—sorry, Rachel—a _high school breakup_ is permissible behavior.”

“I was sticking up for a friend.”

“No. You were looking for a reason to be rude. I’m not going to let that slide. If any of the guys had done that to Rachel, I wouldn’t have let that go, either. It ends. Here.”

Mercedes huffs but doesn’t respond, shaking her head and slowly stepping backwards. Kurt holds her gaze until she drops her eyes, and then Kurt pivots, walking over to where Finn and Puck are standing. “How many days again?” Kurt whispers.

“One forty-eight.”

“Right.”

“We should go _now_ ,” Finn says. “I’ll live in your trunk. It’s fine. I’ll run a hot dog cart in my spare time.”

Kurt laughs a little and looks over his shoulder, hands clasped in front of him like he’s fighting doing anything else with them, and Puck follows his gaze. Mike and Tina are talking quietly, Sam and Mercedes are arguing quietly, Artie keeps looking over at Kurt and Puck and then back down at his phone, where he seems to be texting furiously. Rachel is just standing in place, looking between Mercedes, the door Quinn ran out, and the grouping of Kurt and Finn and Puck. Brittany and Santana are just watching everyone else. Kurt sighs a little and turns back to Puck. “Oh fuck, we have PFLAG right after this.”

“Can the topic be cat fights?” Finn asks. 

“It really wasn’t much of a fight,” Kurt sniffs. “Quinn’s not all that challenging to best.”

“She’s just a bitch.”

“Well, yes.” Kurt sighs and holds Puck’s gaze for a long moment. “She is that.”

“Makes me so fucking mad the way she talks about her.”

“I know.”

Finn pats Puck on the back, gently enough that Puck only flies forward the tiniest bit. “So, uh.” Puck clears his throat. “Are we going to rehearse, sir, dictator, sir?”

“Sure! Yeah, that sounds great!” Finn says. “Everybody, let’s do this thing!”

The somewhat sad truth—or it would be sad if Puck gave a fuck—is that it’s not really a big deal for Quinn to be missing from rehearsal. Puck would rather be somewhere alone with Kurt, instead of rehearsing, but no one else gets to skip out, either, so they rehearse and then head to PFLAG. 

“Got a topic?”

“Gay history.” Kurt shrugs. “I can do it more or less in my sleep, which is handy since I feel like falling asleep.”

“We should skip until time to leave for Toledo.”

“Skip and sleep?”

“Spend time in bed, anyway.” Puck smirks a little and Kurt grins. 

“Not the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” Kurt concedes, stretching slightly. Puck takes a chance and lets his hand trail down Kurt’s side, stopping at the waistband of Kurt’s jeans and not moving his hand until they hear footsteps entering the room.

They glance up as Brown and Rick enter the room. Brown smirks at them knowingly, but Rick just offers a “hey” and cursory wave before the two of them take their usual seats. Puck looks at Brown a little suspiciously but other than the smirk, he doesn’t let on, so Puck shrugs slightly and walks over to the food table. “Carole?” he asks Kurt.

“Mmm, and me. Vegetable lasagna is a good thing to keep me occupied at 2:30 am, who knew?”

“What’s the point of vegetable lasagna?” Brown asks. 

“No clue,” Rick says, shaking his head. “It’s like pot pie. What’s the point of pie without fruit or something in it?”

“Cheese,” Puck asserts. “Also, chocolate in pie. What’s the point of pie without chocolate?”

“Like that French silk pie?” Rick nods. “Yeah, that stuff’s good, too.”

“There’s chocolate for dessert,” Kurt points out. “Woe to any who are allergic.”

Puck just grins as more people stream in, and he finishes filling a plate, sitting back down as Kurt starts to get his own. Karofsky appears in the doorway, then directs Casey in front of him and straight towards the food table.

“Eat, Case.” Puck hears him say.

“I’m really not—”

“It’s lunchtime. People get hungry at lunchtime, they eat at lunchtime. Here, this looks good.”

Casey accepts a plate without further argument, though he looks at the lasagna a little dubiously as Karofsky scoops some up for him.

Puck can’t help but notice when Mercedes walks in, looking a little haughty and positioning herself between Sam and Rachel, though Rachel doesn’t seem to be interested in talking to her. The rest of the usual attendees make their way to the food and then to seats, and Kurt clears his throat after about five more minutes. 

“So, welcome to PFLAG.” He stops and takes a sip of pop, and Puck makes a mental note to investigate if an IV of caffeine really is possible. “I’m Kurt. Let’s go through introductions.” Puck blinks a little at the lack of additional sentences, then smiles slightly when he catches the look on Kurt’s face as Kurt turns towards Finn expectantly.

Finn has a weird look on his face. “Finn?” Kurt says softly after a few too many seconds pass.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Finn says, giving Kurt a sheepish smile. “I’m Finn.”

A few of the A/V club people introduce themselves next, then Brown grins. “I’m Miles Brown, and I love all the people.”

Rick snorts and rolls his eyes at Brown. “I’m Rick and, uh, Brown loves all the people enough for both of us.”

“Yeah, Rick just wants to meet my sister,” Brown crows triumphantly.

“’S true,” Rick says, with a matter–of–fact nod. 

“Careful, Foots. I can ask my mom to transfer her at any time.”

Rick just shakes his head, and the introductions continue around the circle. For once, everybody mostly sticks to names only, even Lauren, who barely bothers to give Puck and Kurt the knowing glance she normally trots out for PFLAG meetings. When they get to Karofsky, he nods once. “Yeah, I’m Dave.” He crosses his arms over his chest and scans the room, then looks almost startled when his gaze drops, and he uncrosses his arms. 

Casey’s still holding his barely–touched plate of lasagna. “Uh. Hi,” he says, his eyes flitting across the circle of people and then back over to Karofsky. “I’m, uh. Casey.”

“I brought you more red Jell-O,” Brittany says. “I’m Brittany, and I brought Jell-O for Casey, and it’s not my turn to talk yet!”

There’s a few smiles, and it seems to break the ice for people who haven’t seen Casey yet or whatever. Casey gives Brittany a sunny, if small, smile. “Thanks, Brittany.”

A few more people introduce themselves before they get to Taylor, who smiles at everyone slightly before speaking. “Yeah, I’m Taylor, and uh, I’m helping Tina and Brittany with the school board thing.” He nods at the end of the sentence, looking somewhat proud. 

The rest of the introductions are mostly predictable, though Tina talks about sending everyone an email about the school board, and then they get back around to Puck. 

“Yeah, I’m Puck.” He snorts. “Or, apparently, Noah.”

“ _Noah_?” Finn says. “Since when?”

“Since apparently preprinted nametags are the rage.”

“Well, _I’m_ not calling you Noah,” Finn says.

“Didn’t figure you would, dude.”

“Fascinating as this sociological exchange is, boys,” Kurt interrupts, clearly amused. “We’ll have to shelve it for later.”

Puck bites his tongue instead of replying with what comes to his mind. Finn, however, says, “We’re calling it sociological exchange now?”

“Shush. I know where you sleep.” Kurt smiles sweetly at Finn then turns back to the rest of the room. “I thought we’d talk about GLBTQ history a bit today. More modern history, that is. I don’t know what everyone’s level of knowledge is – how many of you have no idea what Stonewall is, or why it relates to this topic?”

“Like, Stonewall Jackson?” Rick asks. 

“No, not the Civil War general.” Kurt shakes his head. “Stonewall was—still is, I think—a bar in Greenwich Village in New York City. And in June of 1969, it was the site of the first protests for GLBTQ rights, though to be fair, at that point, it was more like gay rights, without the other letters.”

“It still got things moving,” Santana says. “I mean, we were being left behind. All the other protest movements.”

“True,” Kurt nods. “And before ten years passed, we weren’t considered mentally ill anymore.”

“Wait, they thought you were mentally ill?” Artie asks. “Seriously?”

“Yes. The American Psychiatric Association listed ‘homosexuality’ as a mental disorder. Thankfully, that’s no longer the case – though you will occasionally find rogue psychiatrists.”

Yep, right there in Lima, no less. Puck shakes his head a little. 

“In general,” Kurt continues, “the seventies were seemingly a triumphant time. Along with the removal of homosexuality from the DSM, the first openly gay man was elected to American public office.”

“Seemingly?” Taylor asks.

“Harvey Milk—the politician I referred to earlier—was assassinated after just eleven months in office. Also, despite other gains, it’s been determined that the HIV virus was beginning to be spread throughout the United States by the late ‘70s.”

“Wait, the guy was assassinated? Why haven’t we ever heard of this?” Sam asks, looking interested. 

“He was a city–level official in San Francisco, and he was gay.” Kurt shrugs.

“Who killed him?” Casey asks, his eyes huge. 

“One of his fellow city supervisors. The mayor was also assassinated.”

“Didn’t the guy get a ridiculously short sentence?” Santana scowls.

“Five years.”

“Twinkie defense,” Lauren snorts. “Stupidest defense ever.”

“And yet, it worked,” Puck points out. “Two people dead, five years in prison.”

“That’s _terrible_!” Casey says. He looks agitated, like he’s just not sure what to do with the information. 

“It is. There’s actually a good movie about Harvey Milk, the one with Sean Penn.”

“We should have a movie night,” Finn suggests. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Kurt agrees, and Puck nods. 

“Can we watch _But I’m A Cheerleader_?” Santana asks. 

“Um. Maybe?” Kurt answers, looking at her askance. 

“Lady movies need love, too,” Brittany says.

“How many movies would people be interested in seeing in one evening?” Kurt asks.

“How many do you have?” Brown asks. “Can we mix it up with something more spicy than assassinations?”

“Spicy?” Kurt raises one eyebrow. 

“You mean like _porn_?” Rick says, looking at Brown with a horrified expression. “Seriously, Brown!”

“Also, the majority of the people in this room are _not_ eighteen.” Kurt shakes his head. 

“Does that mean you _could_ play something spicy for us?” Brown grins.

“ _Brown!_ ” 

“Seriously, Brown.” Karofsky shakes his head, and Puck can tell Casey looks like he’s going to explode in some fashion. “No porn at PFLAG.”

“Oh good, a new rule.” Kurt smirks slightly. “I think we should enshrine that, actually.”

“Well, this weekend is out for a movie night, but how about next weekend?” Tina interjects, clearly trying to steer the conversation. “Who can host?”

“I can!” Brown volunteers. “I promise, no porn. So what, St. Paddy’s day?”

Kurt scans the room, looking for any objections, but Puck only sees some nods and a few skeptical looks. He can’t imagine all of them will show up. “All right. Movies at Brown’s, on Saint Patrick’s day. I’m sure he’ll let all of us know more details before then.”

“That’s right.”

“Now, back to our topic – any other questions? We’re getting close to the end of lunch period.”

“I don’t know if this is history or what,” one of the freshmen speaks up, sitting near Taylor. “But why is gay marriage such a big deal?”

“That is probably a topic best saved for its own meeting,” Kurt says with a slight wince. “Next time, all right?” The girl nods, looking only slightly disappointed. “Anyone else?”

“Are there any good overviews? Books or websites?”

“There are several good books,” Kurt nods. “Some are specifically about Stonewall, some about AIDS, at least one good biography of Harvey Milk, and other aspects of GLBTQ history. I’ll try to type up a list and email it out.” Kurt smiles slightly. “All right, see everyone next time.”

Chairs scrape across the floor as people stand and grab their bags, sometimes grabbing more food or another drink before they exit the room. Puck employs his usual delaying tactics of stacking chairs and grabbing food until no one is left in the room except him and Kurt. 

“I’m seriously skipping,” Puck announces. “I can’t get shit done feeling like this anyway.”

“No,” Kurt agrees with a little sigh. “I’ll email my French teacher. Later.”

“I’m a bad influence.”

“Definitely.” 

Puck grins. “Good to know.” He has to shove his hands deep into his pockets as they walk through the school to the parking lot, and he sighs with a little bit of relief as they climb in and he reaches across the console, resting his hand on Kurt’s thigh. 

“This is hard.” 

“And we’re going to be hard,” Puck teases half-heartedly. 

“That wasn’t even that good,” Kurt smiles sadly.

“No, not really,” Puck admits with a sigh. “Sorry, blue eyes.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby.” Kurt squeezes his hand. “It’s… The first week after Chicago was hard. Right? And it got a little better.”

“Yeah. Finals next week? And break? That’s good, I guess.” Puck bites at his lip as they climb out of the Nav and walk to Kurt’s room. “It’s something, anyway.” Something about Kurt’s room looks off, and Kurt even turns in place, like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. It’s not until they’re both half–undressed, Puck’s shirt tossed across the desk chair and Kurt’s scarf half on top of it that the realization hits Puck. 

For two weeks, almost, it was _theirs_ , not just Kurt’s, and Puck slams his lips to Kurt’s with a little more force than he intends. Kurt returns the kiss with equal fervor, though, and they fall onto the bed, teeth and tongues scraping and sliding against each other. Puck works Kurt’s jeans open with one hand, thankful that Kurt’s already unfastened his belt, and he kneels for a moment to pull Kurt’s jeans and underwear both off, then starts to remove his own, lying back over Kurt as he kicks them off. 

“God, baby,” Kurt cries, his arms pulling Puck down, their chests tight together. “I need you.”

“I know,” Puck murmurs against Kurt’s ear. “I know, K, I know. Need you, too.” Puck runs his fingers through Kurt’s hair and then traces a path down Kurt’s neck, over his shoulder, and down his chest. “Missed you so much last night, blue eyes.” 

“I didn’t even try,” Kurt confesses, his body arching off the bed to press against Puck’s. “I just stayed downstairs and did homework and made lasagna and oh, god, do that again.”

Puck chuckles against Kurt’s chest and rocks his hips down, dragging their cocks together. “Like that, K?”

“Fuck yes.” Kurt wraps his arms around Puck’s neck and throws his own head back. “Damn, baby, please.”

“Please what?” Puck manages to get out before he fuses their mouths together again, his hand cupping Kurt’s jaw and then tweaking first one nipple, then the other. When he pulls away, Kurt’s gasping for air.

“Please, _everything_.”

“I know,” is the only response Puck can manage, his mouth pressed against Kurt’s neck and, fuck, he knows they have Regionals on Saturday, knows he can’t leave even a tiny mark, but he wants to, wants Kurt to leave evidence on him, too, and instead he moves his lips back to Kurt’s mouth and thrusts his tongue deep inside, insistent and sloppy. 

Kurt’s fingers tighten, digging into his side, and Puck might have evidence on himself, after all, but he can’t object, pushing down over and over and letting their erections slide together. His hand leaves Kurt’s face, teasing at the hair at the nape of Kurt’s neck before rummaging in the bedside table drawer. It takes a minute or so of fumbling, a minute that Puck uses to keep kissing Kurt, to thrust down again, harder, before Puck grabs the lube and pulls it out of the drawer. Kurt’s hand meets his, opening the bottle for him and then taking it and pouring some onto Puck’s fingers, and damn, they just work well together, fitting together perfectly. 

Puck slides two slicked fingers into Kurt, and Kurt tilts his pelvis upward, rocking onto Puck’s fingers and moaning into Puck’s mouth. Kurt’s warm and tight around Puck’s fingers, and Puck crooks the tips, grinning against Kurt’s lips when Kurt shudders at the stimulation to his prostate. Puck does it again, smirking as Kurt just melts, his lips falling away from Puck’s with a moan. 

“Baby, Puck, c’mon,” Kurt almost babbles, and Puck thrusts a third finger in for a moment before pulling all three out. Kurt pushes against him insistently and Puck hisses as he moves his hand over his cock and then slides Kurt’s legs over his shoulders, pressing slowly inside Kurt. 

Kurt’s hot, so hot, and his muscles just relax around Puck, drawing him in before clamping back down, holding Puck in place, fully surrounded. Puck takes a long deep breath to steady himself before moving slowly, exquisitely slowly, drawing himself almost entirely out of Kurt before pushing back in equally slowly. Kurt’s head turns to the side, his eyes half–closed, and Puck speeds up slowly, a little bit faster which each thrust, until the pace is quick, barely leaving Kurt before slamming back in, Kurt tightening around him with each movement. 

Puck wraps one hand around Kurt’s cock, his wrist feeling like it’s almost flying up and down, twisting a little on each downward stroke, and Kurt lets out a long, low hum, hips rocking upward as he shudders. He coats himself and Puck’s hand and Puck drives in with a cry, coming deep in Kurt before awkwardly collapsing, tangled in Kurt’s legs. 

“Puck,” Kurt breathes, air ghosting over Puck’s cheeks. “Puck.”

“Mmm.” Puck slides his arm around Kurt’s waist. “Kurt.”

“We should sleep,” Kurt murmurs after a minute, and he grabs for his phone. “Twenty-five minutes is a power nap, right?”

“Twenty-five minutes is better than nothing,” Puck agrees, already closing his eyes. 

 

“Did you buy out Fresh Market?” Puck can’t help but tease as he climbs back into the Nav, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Just an aisle or two.”

“Oh, well. Too bad.” Puck shrugs. “Target, by the way.”

“Oh?” Kurt turns out towards the Target and not 75, raising one eyebrow.

“Upped the BuSpar. Probably a good thing. I still feel… restless? Jittery? Something.”

“Okay.” Kurt nods. 

“I think it’s just, you know. Lima. Anxiety–producing town.”

Kurt nods. “I can see that.”

“So I’m supposed to just pre-emptively take a Xanax on Saturday, like an hour before we’re supposed to perform or something. I still think last time it had more to do with the Garblers, but.” Puck shrugs. “It probably can’t hurt.”

“No, probably not,” Kurt agrees, pulling into the Target lot. He sighs. “Sometimes, I worried we were putting too much on the idea of getting out of Lima, out of Ohio. Like we weren’t addressing things that still needed to be addressed. And we do.” He waves expansively. “And I know we need to get back to exercising again. But then there was last week, and – I don’t know. I think we’re right. Some things are going to just evaporate.”

“Yeah. I think so,” Puck agrees, nodding as he climbs out the Nav. “And like. Less pressure? Which doesn’t make any sense. People probably think the opposite.”

“Well, we do like to upset the apple-cart, or whatever that phrase is that Great-Aunt Mildred loves so much.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, we do.”

They decide on Subway after Puck’s finished at Target, and Puck climbs into the driver’s seat. “My turn,” Kurt sighs. “Why did we agree to study on the drive up and back?”

“Because tonight we have to do physics? After curfew, I mean. And because this week sucks.”

“I’m just sticking with the latter.” Kurt huffs as he pulls out his iPad and starts repeating things in French. 

Thanks to Target and Subway, they only have about two and a half hours to sleep before Burt stands at the door and taps on the doorframe with increasing volume until Puck slips out from under Kurt’s arm and rubs his eyes, yawning. 

“Time to go home, kid,” Burt says, almost apologetically. 

“Yeah, okay,” Puck nods with a little sigh. He pulls his jacket and backpack on, shoving his feet into his boots, and Kurt stirs as he stands. 

“Puck?” he murmurs.

“Gotta go home, K,” Puck says softly, leaning back over the bed. “Sucks.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees. “Okay. Call me?”

“You bet.” Puck nods and kisses Kurt deeply before heading down the stairs and out to the Nav. This fucking _sucks_ and there’s no answer to it. Just absolutely fucked up sleep and doing weird shit like physics homework via FaceTime at 2 am.

 

Wednesday morning sucks, like Puck figured it would. He crawled in bed and tried to sleep around four, which ended up meaning maybe thirty or forty minutes of sleep before he had to get up and go to work for the first time in a week. 

“This isn’t working,” Puck groans as they reach the McKinley parking lot.

Kurt sighs. “No, it’s really not.”

“Power through until Friday?”

“Then what?”

“No fucking clue.”

Fourth period is rehearsal because “it’s the week before Regionals, everyone!” as Rachel exhorts them, so Puck finds his feet traveling towards the auditorium and then donning dancing shoes. 

“Ok, guys,” Finn says to everyone. “Let’s nail this. No reason why we can’t be doing it perfect by now, so let’s do it that way.”

Which maybe Finn’s right about that, but during their first run-through of ‘Tubthumping’, Kurt turns to the right instead of the left at one point, which sends him flying into Tina, who falls against Santana. 

“Shit, Kurt, are you ok?” Finn says, waving at Mike to cut off the music. “Did you trip?”

Kurt looks a little dazed as he shakes his head. “No, no. I think I… turned the wrong way?”

“You’re not hurt, right?” Finn looks almost unreasonably worried. 

“Dude, chill,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. “Everyone’s fine.”

“He just knocked into Tina pretty hard,” Finn shrugs. “I was… well, anyway. Let’s try that from the top, ok? Kurt, left turn, ok, pancake?”

“Yeah, sure, waffle,” Kurt replies, nodding but still looking distracted, and Puck can’t really blame him. Coffee isn’t really adequate for full-blown rehearsal.

Puck isn’t sure what happens during ‘Marchin’ On’, just that one minute they’re all singing and dancing and the next minute, everyone’s staring at him. 

“What?”

“Your cue,” Finn says. “Yeah, we’re gonna talk later. From the top again, guys. Come on, we can do this!”

“Cue?” Puck repeats, then shrugs. Yeah, okay. Maybe it was time to sing. The rest of rehearsal goes more or less smoothly, especially since no one’s trying to talk much with anyone else. Mercedes gives Kurt a wounded look as they all leave, which Kurt either studiously ignores or genuinely doesn’t notice. 

“Kurt, Puck, don’t leave yet,” Finn says, as everyone else heads out towards lunch. “What’s going on with you guys? I’m, like, worried here.”

“Tired,” Puck shrugs. “Not enough sleep.” 

“Exactly.” When the last of the others leaves the auditorium, Kurt slumps against Puck. “So exhausted. Is it bad form to nap in the Nav before class?”

“Uh, you’re asking the wrong person if you want answers about form, dude,” Finn says. “But seriously, I’m worried. No way you guys can go into Regionals tired like that. What’s it gonna take?”

“Uh.” Puck looks at Kurt, who shrugs. “We had like, sixteen days, dude.”

“Sixteen days of what?”

“Nights, really,” Kurt corrects. “We just got used to it. We did after Chicago, too, but it wasn’t as many days, and we had some buffer.”

“Oh. Together, you mean,” Finn says. His face falls momentarily, and then suddenly brightens again. “Hey, I’m gonna see if you can stay over before Regionals. You can at least get some sleep the night before.”

“You know, there’s no school on Thursday,” Puck can’t resist pointing out. “Just, well. Saying.” Kurt giggles a little but doesn’t object.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Finn nods. “That’d be cool. We could all hang out, maybe. Like, actually hang out hang out. Not, you know.”

“Yeah. Figured you’d be all ‘dress rehearsal’ at some point Friday.”

“I should schedule it really early, so then Burt’ll have to see it’s a good idea.”

Kurt laughs again. “Okay. Just don’t tell the rest of them it’s our fault it’s so early.”

“Totally my fault, dude,” Finn agrees. “I mean, I _am_ the dictator.”

“We should get you a hat. One of those Communist hats.”

“Do you have one of those? I could borrow it. Those are the furry ones, right? Don’t you have some kind of furry hat?”

“I have a Union cap. It’s blue.”

“Like we said. Tired.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Go nap or whatever, and I’ll talk to Burt tonight, ok?” Finn shakes his head. “Seriously, we’ve gotta get you guys back to New York before you turn into zombies.”

“Brains. Brains.” Puck manages a grin. “Okay, dude. Later.”

Finn just waves at them as he heads out the door to lunch. They really do spend most of the sixty-five minutes they have before class in the back of the Nav, eating with one hand on the drive over and then sacking out across the backseat, both their phones set to alert them. It’s probably lame and definitely not the best approach, but napping for thirty minutes is enough to get Puck through math and then an hour of physics equations, which Kurt can just copy later, anyway.

Around seven, Puck’s trying to decide the best way to stay awake for the rest of his shift—one venti Americano then, or a tall right away plus another tall in seventy-five minutes—when Kurt walks in. 

“Hey.” Puck grins. “What’re you doing here?”

Kurt shrugs. “I brought you dinner. Had Dad drop me off.”

“Mmm. Dinner sounds good.”

“Plus I thought I could help you stay awake. By talking to you, that is.” Kurt smiles wryly. “Not any other ways that can be done while you’re working.”

“More’s the pity.” Puck laughs and accepts the food gratefully. “How was work?”

“I told Dad just to give me oil changes. He looked at me like I was sick and felt my forehead.” Kurt snorts. “But there wasn’t really anything interesting, anyway.”

“Yeah, it’s been dead here.” Puck removes the dish from the microwave and takes a bite. “Mmm this is fantastic. Anyway, I seriously considered calling Ms. Horatio and asking if I could close up early, because you’re the first person in here in the last twenty minutes, and it usually gets even slower after seven on Wednesdays.”

“Call her at eight, as long as it’s still slow?” Kurt suggests.

“Probably.” Puck nods and sits down across from Kurt at one of the tables, because there’s no one in the store. 

“I’ve been thinking about the Nav.”

“What about it?”

“When I was walking around Thursday morning, I saw a few parking places, and I called a few others. Unless we get a windfall, I can’t see taking it.”

“Hmm.” Puck chews his bite. “Do we need it?”

“Probably we need a car or something for the first week or two, all those trips to Ikea.” Kurt grins. “But after that? No, I don’t see us needing it.”

“Well.” Puck shrugs. “Your dad can drive out with us and drive it back?”

“And then it sits here, right?” Kurt sighs. “I looked it up online. We could probably sell it for over $30,000. Four years from now, it’s not going to be worth that much.”

“Holy shit.” Puck just stares for a second. “Thirty thousand? Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Kurt nods. “I just – that’s a lot. It’s rent for over a year.”

“Yeah. Damn.” Puck exhales. “It’s your baby, though.”

Kurt grins wickedly. “No, _you’re_ my baby. And yes, I do love it, but it’s totally superfluous in New York.”

“What about that Zipcar thing? If we needed a car, I mean.”

Kurt nods. “So the real question is, do we try to sell it before August? Or go ahead and use it to move in, and have Dad sell it afterwards?”

“Well, it’s not costing us anything extra, really, so probably sell afterwards?” Puck shrugs. “Doubt the Zipcars have as much cargo space.”

“True. Okay.” Kurt nods. “It’s a tentative plan. Technically the Nav is in Dad’s name and he can probably shelter the money so it doesn’t impact financial aid too much, and he can just send us the money each month for the rent. That’ll help. Or we can spread it out more. Whatever.”

No one else walks into Starbucks for the next hour, so Puck does call Ms. Horatio and she says sure, he can close up, it’ll save some electricity and all of that. Kurt slides himself under Puck’s arm as they walk down the sidewalk towards where Puck parked the Nav earlier. “Couple of hours, that’s good.”

“Very good.”

Kurt leads them into the house after the short drive, heading for the kitchen, and Puck can hear ‘Deadliest Catch’ echoing from the living room. “Marathon?” he asks Kurt, who grimaces slightly and nods. 

“He’s very excited.” Kurt deposits the empty food container in the sink and passes Puck some cookies almost absently, leaning against the counter while he eats one himself. There’s an obvious commercial break in the living room, some obnoxiously loud Miller Lite commercial, and Burt appears in the kitchen. 

“Hey Kurt, Puck,” he says, going to the fridge and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “What are you two up to?”

“Cookies,” Kurt answers vaguely. “I think we’ll head upstairs in a few minutes.”

“Cookies are good,” Burt says. “Oh, Puck, Finn said something about early rehearsal Friday morning and you should stay over? He didn’t exactly explain too much, but I guess you’re staying, is the gist of it.”

“Okay.” Puck nods. Finn apparently works fast. 

“Oh, and Friday night, too, I’m guessing?”

Puck nods again, not really sure how to respond, because this is both awesome but weirdly awkward, since there’s no sickness or whatever to provide an excuse. 

“I’ll let Carole know,” Burt says. “Sounds like my show’s back on. Marathon tonight!”

“You, uh, enjoy that,” Puck responds. 

“Good night, Dad. Thanks.”

“Night,” Burt says, heading back into the living room.

“You know what would be awesome?” Puck says as they walk up the stairs. “A guitar show. Like _American Choppers_ , but with guitars.”

“What channel would they even air that on?”

Puck shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe they could put it on like, after _American Idol_ or something.”

“Hmm, network. Maybe.” Kurt flops onto his bed. “I think your brain is an interesting place.”

“Most of the time it’s pretty much basic caveman. With a soundtrack.”

Kurt laughs. “I like your brain, quite a lot.”

“Oh?” Puck sits down next to him, then lies back. “You feature prominently.”

“Tell me about that.”

“I’d show you, but.” Puck wraps his arms around Kurt and lies his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“Tell me tonight?”

Puck grins. “Okay.”

 

It’s later than it usually would be when Burt wakes them up a few hours later, though Kurt wakes up first this time, gently prodding Puck awake. “Call me when you get home,” Kurt whispers, and Puck nods. “We’ll have to try to get the rest of physics finished.”

“Yeah, I will. We will.” Puck kisses Kurt hard, pressing them against the wall, then pulls back with a slight grin and heads down the stairs and out to the Nav. When he gets inside the apartment and into his room, he hits Kurt’s name on the phone and listens to it ring for a split second before Kurt picks up. 

“Home?”

“Staring at physics.”

“Aren’t we lucky?”

“And a long-term substitute. What if we get one that makes us actually pay attention and not fudge lab results?”

“One that requires more from seniors out of some kind of principle?”

Puck shakes his head and thanks Steve Jobs again, may he rest in peace, for FaceTime, as he shudders and makes a face in lieu of a verbal response, and Kurt giggles. 

They manage to finish the physics that absolutely has to be turned in, and then they switch off FaceTime, Puck lying on his bed. 

“You promised me you’d tell me something, Noo-ahh,” Kurt reminds Puck, giggling again.

Puck snorts. “Yeah, storytime. I figured if we were lucky, storytime would let us get a little bit of sleep.”

“Ohh. That kind of storytime, I like,” Kurt confirms, and his voice gets farther away as he puts Puck on speaker. “I need to get dressed for it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Puck laughs. “So what do I get to peel off of you tomorrow night, blue eyes?”

Kurt’s breath catches a little before he responds. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see in the morning, won’t you?” he finally answers, a little coyly.

“Such a tease, K,” Puck groans, shedding his jeans and crawling under the blankets. 

“I follow through.”

“Fuck, yeah, you do,” Puck allows. 

“So, storytime,” Kurt chirps. “I’m all snuggled under my duvet. Naked.”

“Naked storytime,” Puck muses. “Probably not going to catch on at the library or the Barnes and Noble.”

“No. But I think it’ll be popular with me,” Kurt promises. 

“I should hope so.” Puck lowers his voice a little. “I’m thinking about you on Saturday night.”

“Oh?”

“Mmmhmm. When I went to grab our pop, and I waited at the bar?”

“Yes?” The ‘s’ is just a little drawn out, and Puck grins. 

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Puck ghosts his own hand over himself, his eyes closing slightly. “Remember I told you that some guy tried to hit on me?”

Kurt hums a little. He’d been amused when Puck told him, incredulous. “I do.”

“He asked if I was looking for someone to leave with. And I just looked at him, raised one eyebrow, and told him that I already got to go home with the hottest guy in the entire place.”

“Ohh.” Kurt’s voice is a little disbelieving but clearly pleased.

“Mmmhmm. And he just stared at me for a minute. So I waited until I saw you again, and I just pointed to you and smirked.” Puck pauses. “Tighten your hand on yourself, K.”

“Okay,” Kurt replies, his voice a little strained. “Then what?”

“He took _one look_ at you and just walked away. Couldn’t argue with me,” Puck says smugly. 

“You’re lying.”

“Mmm. Am not.” Puck slides his hand over his cock, twisting it slowly as he increases the pressure. “Hottest. Guy. There. No contest, blue eyes. Fuck, I was hard the whole time we were there.”

Kurt laughs, definitely more strained and lot lower. “I did notice that. You weren’t the only one.”

“I should have pulled you into the bathroom and taken care of that for you,” Puck says roughly. “Would you have liked that?”

“God, yes. You— we should do that. Sometime.” 

“Oh, you like that idea, K?” Puck’s hand speeds up. “Leaning against the wall with me in front of you? Someone could walk in and hear us, maybe even see us? What would you do then, Kurt?”

“Oh, god. Puck.” Puck can hear the faintest sound of Kurt’s hand smacking against his skin with increasing fervor, and he smirks.

“Would you let me keep going, my mouth all over you, my hands on your balls, where they can see us?” 

“Yes. Fuck, yes.” Kurt sounds like he’s fighting hard not to cry out, a little bit of a whimper escaping. “Couldn’t stop.”

“No,” Puck agrees. “I couldn’t. And you’d look so beautiful, flushed and your lips parted and red from where you’ve been biting them. Damn, K.”

“Puck. Yes, yeah, baby.”

“Fuck. Are you biting your lips right now?”

“Mmmhmm.” There’s a few incoherent noises and a low hum, and Puck answers with a low whine of his own. 

“Faster, blue eyes,” Puck murmurs, and he squeezes himself, moving his own hand more quickly. “Gonna come, pretend it’s my mouth on you, K.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Kurt groans at the last phrase, and then there’s another low moan as he comes, and Puck grins a little. 

“Yeah, just like that, fuck,” Puck adds, then he closes his eyes as his own orgasm hits, biting down on his own lips because waking up Hannah at 3 or whatever in the morning would ruin things. 

“You there?” Kurt asks a few moments later.

“Mmmhmm,” Puck answers. “Damn. Maybe we can actually sleep a little.”

Kurt’s laugh is slow and definitely tired. “You’d get about two more hours, tops.”

“I’ll take it,” Puck confesses, pulling his extra pillow against him. “Talk to me?”

“Always. Or at least until I fall asleep.”

“We can hope.”

 

Puck lets a slow grin overtake his face when Kurt walks in the next morning. “Somebody likes me.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Kurt asks innocently. Kurt’s outfit isn’t flashy, but damn, if Kurt didn’t take Puck’s comment to heart. Tight purple jeans that Puck hasn’t seen in a month or two, white shirt with a purple tie, and a grey sweater over it, and Puck really wants to just push Kurt against the counter. 

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Kurt smirks. “I might,” he concedes, spinning in place with deliberate slowness. “I take it you like?”

“Again, you _know_ I do.”

“Does that mean a nice boy like me could get an escort to school?”

“I’ll escort you somewhere,” Puck suggests, “but I can’t guarantee complete control over my actions or the destination.”

“Remember,” Kurt chides, accepting his coffee from Puck, “you do get to come home with me tonight.”

“Oh, I am definitely not forgetting that. But tonight’s a long way away, yet.”

“True.” 

“A long, long way.”

“Nuh-uh.” Kurt shakes a finger at Puck teasingly. “You don’t get to undress me until tonight.”

“There are _plenty_ of things that don’t involve undressing you,” Puck points out as they climb into the Nav. “Plenty of good ways to occupy, say, first period?” Kurt bites on his lower lip, and Puck grins. “Better ways to use that lip, too.”

Kurt laughs, shaking his head slightly. “So you think we should just stay in the parking lot?”

“More or less.” Puck shrugs. “Problem?”

“No,” Kurt admits, still laughing. He pulls into the farthest corner of the parking lot and grins at Puck before scrambling over the console into the back, and Puck hurries to follow him into the very back. “Like this?”

“Mmmhmm,” Puck agrees, moving closer and sliding one hand into Kurt’s hair, cupping the back of Kurt’s head. “A good way to spend the morning,” he adds as he moves his lips closer to Kurt’s, barely brushing them against each other. 

Kurt nods slightly, his lips parting as Puck moves forward, his tongue running over Kurt’s lips before slipping inside Kurt’s mouth. Kurt’s tongue presses into Puck’s mouth and Puck can’t help but sigh a little into Kurt’s mouth as they deepen the kiss. 

Puck runs his other hand down Kurt’s chest, resting it on Kurt’s hip and using it to pull Kurt closer. Kurt pushes on Puck’s chest a little and Puck lets himself fall backward, Kurt on top of him. He starts when he feels Kurt’s hand on his belt buckle. “You said!”

“I said you couldn’t undress me.” Kurt grins. “Never said anything about the other way around.”

“Fuck.” Puck lets his head fall back. “Damn, K.” Kurt grins again, unfastening Puck’s jeans and freeing Puck’s erection. 

“Mmm.” Kurt bends his head down, licking at the base of Puck’s cock. “Any regrets yet?” He runs a hand over Puck’s skin, and Puck shivers a little, shaking his head. “Good,” Kurt comments, and then closes his mouth over the head of Puck’s erection, his eyes shutting at the same time. 

“Fuck, K,” Puck exhales, Kurt’s tongue wrapping around him as Kurt’s lips curve a little. Kurt takes more of Puck in his mouth, his hands on Puck’s balls, caressing them as his mouth moves. Puck watches him for a bit, watches his head slowly moving from its perch between Puck’s thighs, and then closes his own eyes, his head falling back as Kurt continues working his magic with his mouth and lips and tongue and hands. It isn’t long before Puck hisses as Kurt hums, and Puck jerks his hips upwards into Kurt’s mouth as he comes. 

Kurt moves to kiss Puck, his tongue deep in Puck’s mouth within seconds, and Puck whines as he reaches to palm Kurt’s erection, only to have his hand swatted away. “Kurt.”

“Not yet, baby.” Kurt pulls back and grins, his jeans stretched impossibly tight across his cock. Puck thinks it looks like it would hurt, and he just wants to touch Kurt, to slide his hand across the jeans or inside them, and he frowns a little as Kurt moves out of reach. “Don’t pout.”

“M’not.”

“You are. It’s very cute.” Kurt leans forward carefully to kiss Puck again. “We have to go to physics.”

“All I need to know about color right here.” Puck sighs and pulls his jeans back on, tucking in his shirt awkwardly. “You must be some kind of masochist.”

Kurt laughs. “You know I’m not. I’m just patient.”

“Crazy.” Puck kisses Kurt again before they exit the Nav and walk into school, going around the back wall to slip in out of sight as they head towards physics just ahead of the bell. 

 

“Shit.” 

“Hmm?” Kurt asks as they change into their costumes for the dress rehearsal Finn declared during fourth period. 

“I sort of forgot about Purim.”

“Oops?” Kurt offers, shrugging. “Is it a big deal?”

“Hannah’ll be mad at me. I mean, I had to work last night anyway, and by the time we get out of rehearsal this afternoon, it’s gonna be dark, so.”

“Is there a Purim greeting? You can say it to Rachel and then tell Hannah you celebrated at school.” Kurt grins a little.

Puck laughs. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.” Mike and Sam bang into the bathroom then, which sucks, because Puck was totally going to tie that green tie for Kurt, but instead they finish getting dressed with their hands to themselves – just like they taught in preschool, he can’t help thinking to himself with a snort. 

When they walk onto the stage, Finn is already dressed and giving some sort of instructions to Tina, Brittany, and Santana. Santana rolls her eyes, but Brittany nods her head rapidly, like she’s agreeing with every word. Quinn and Mercedes are off the side, clearly whispering about something and Puck rolls his eyes a little as they join Finn and the other girls. 

“Everybody looks so great!” Finn announces, when he sees Puck and Kurt. 

“We definitely look better than the monstrosities Aural Intensity’s wearing.”

“They’re dressing like monsters?” Brittany asks. “That’s so cool.”

“No, like… sailor suits and sailor–style swing dresses.” Kurt shudders. “April sent me a picture. They’re awful.”

Santana laughs. “So the question is, do their costumes match their set list?”

“Songs about sailors? Are there songs about that?” Finn asks.

“There’s ‘Son of a Son of a Sailor’,” Sam offers. “I don’t know any others.”

“Something from _H.M.S. Pinafore_?” Rachel offers.

“Disjointed at best, then,” Kurt hums. “Well. We’ll see, anyway.”

“How’re everybody’s shoes doing?” Finn asks. “Bottoms all nice and scuffed? Nobody gonna fall on their faces?”

“Butter. That’s what we need to take with us.” Puck grins.

“Why do you need butter?” Finn asks. “Don’t get us disqualified, dude!”

“Psych. No need to use it, just set it out where they can see it.” Puck shrugs. “Or some Butterfingers. Whatever.”

“Butter is very scary,” Brittany agrees. “You should put it on a stool.”

“You’re in a better mood today, Puck,” Tina observes, grinning at him. “Any particular reason?”

Finn somehow manages to make his strangled noise and laugh at the same time. “Maybe it’s ’cause he slept in or something,” Sam offers over the tail end of it. “He missed history first period.”

Santana starts just a little and then laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

Finn laughs even harder. “Slept in! God, Puck, so lazy! You better get your ass in gear!” 

“In _gear_?” Puck cracks. “Kinky.”

“I’ve done that. It’s not as fun as it sounds,” Brittany says.

“Britt, you don’t need to tell them that.” Santana tugs on Brittany’s hand, shaking her head.

“Oh wait, was that even a gear? What would you call that?” 

“We’ll try to figure it out later, okay?”

“Ohhhhkay,” Finn says, suddenly. “Moving right along. Mike, music? Let’s get started.”

“Right!” Mike answers, grinning broadly, and they do two run-throughs before Finn stops them. 

“Looking good, guys,” Finn says. “Back on track, I like it.”

“Brains.”

“Always a good thing to have, dude,” Finn agrees. 

“Let’s place bets,” Mike suggests. “On what Schue has us do this afternoon.”

“Something ridiculous,” Finn says. “Which is why we need to practice in the morning. So, rehearsal at nine in the morning, here.”

“On our day off?” Mercedes demands, apparently forgetting that she’s supposed to be giving Finn the silent treatment, once sleep is mentioned.

“Yes. We need it. We’ve been all over the place lately and we _need_ it.”

“Dress rehearsal?” Kurt asks quickly, cutting his eyes over at Mercedes, who has her mouth half–open like she’s about to retort.

“Yep, that’s the plan.”

“We should just show up in our costumes then. Save us a little time.” Kurt’s face is utterly innocent, but when everyone else looks back to Finn, Kurt looks over at Puck and the corners of his lips twitch upwards just a bit. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. Good idea, Kurt,” Finn says. 

“Are we done?” Quinn says, her tone sharp. 

Puck can tell Kurt’s actually restraining himself from responding, his eyes hardening just a little and one hand curling up into what’s almost a fist. Most of Puck’s glad, since they don’t need another catfight, but the rest of him wishes Kurt would just go off on her again. Mainly because Quinn could still use to be brought down a few pegs, but also because it’s really fucking hot. 

“Yes, we’re done. Go on and go if you want,” Finn says, dismissively. 

The girls all flounce from the room, even if they don’t mean to – those underskirt things just make them all flounce, in Puck’s opinion. The guys loiter a little more, discussing the unexpected day off.

“But we still have dual enrollment,” Mike points out with a little groan. “Why can’t they coordinate these things?”

“Misery. It’s designed for our misery,” Kurt pronounces. “Otherwise we could spend the entire day after rehearsal being slothful.”

“Two-toed or three-toed?”

“Ten.”

“Do sloths come in a ten–toed version?” Finn asks, then shakes his head. “Anyway, you guys should come over and play Xbox later, after your dual enrollment.”

“Will there be food?” Sam jokes.

“What are we playing?” Artie asks. “Remember, no drums for me.”

“No Call of Duty.”

“We can’t play Motorsport all day,” Puck points out, laughing.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes Mike cry when he loses five games in a row,” Finn says. “Look, he’s already sad thinking about it.”

“It’s true.” Mike frowns and sniffs. “It makes me sob. Hysterically.”

“Spoilsports,” Kurt sniffs as they all head back into the bathroom to change. Kurt winks at Puck and slips into the stall to change, leaving Puck shaking his head and rolling his eyes. He finishes getting dressed and types out a quick text as he steps into the hall.

_I think it’s teasing if it takes hours to follow thru_

He grins when he hears Kurt yelp as his phone vibrates, but it doesn’t take long for an answer to come through. 

_It’s still less than a day Noooah xx_

Puck laughs and walks towards the choir room as he responds.

_Are you going to make me wait for lunch too?_

_You could go get that yourself, you know. It’s not like the locks keep you out. :P_

_Where’s the fun in that?_

_Duly noted. Lunch is on its way. Finn is amused by us and is muttering about pretty ties._

_Do I even want to know?_ Puck sends back after a minute of re-reading the last text, puzzled. 

_No. xx_

 

Ms. P stops by during the afternoon to ask Puck how he’s progressing on the syllabus, which causes him to realize that he’s actually ahead of where he thought he should be. It’s not like he decided to try to be, but all the cramming for auditions got him a good three weeks ahead, which means he can either slack off a little or coast at the end, or both.

Which Puck decides means he’s free to just write a little once it gets close to the final bell, and he’s still writing when the bell rings and the rest of the club starts trooping in. Mercedes walks in a few steps ahead of anyone else and sniffs loudly. “This what you do every afternoon? Goof off and have everyone tricked into thinking you’re working?”

Puck rolls his eyes and stands up from the piano. “Yep, that’s it, Aretha. And sometimes I just skip last period on Tuesday completely.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she says darkly, sitting down on the opposite side of the room. “You really upset Quinn on Tuesday.”

“Boo fucking hoo.”

“What’re we crying about?” Finn asks. “Something sad happen?”

“Aretha and her friend’s punkin’ feelings are hurt,” Puck says flippantly. 

“Hmm. That’s terrible, like, really terrible,” Finn says, shaking his head. “We should call in one of those grief counselors like they do when a school bus crashes into the ocean or something.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Mercedes huffs. “I’d almost rather be in detention.”

“Detention?” Mike repeats as he walks in with Tina and Sam. “Who has detention?”

“Mercedes and I do,” Quinn says, entering the classroom behind Sam. “Because we’re apparently vicious cyberbullies.”

“Color me stunned,” Kurt says dryly. “Quinn Fabray? Cyberbullying since 2008, actually serving detention for it?” Rachel starts a little at Kurt’s words, and sits down by herself, equidistant between Quinn and Mercedes on one side and most of the guys on the other. 

“Some people just make a bigger deal out of things than—”

“All right, guys!” Schue walks in and starts talking immediately. “They finally revealed the venue for Saturday!”

Everyone who’s still standing up takes a seat, mouths closing with a few glares being tossed around. “Uh, where?” Puck finally asks, taking pity on Schue. 

“The Rock’N’Roll Hall of Fame!” Schue beams. “Isn’t that great? Now, of course, it’s over three hours to Cleveland, and we want to allow four hours travel time, so that means we all need to be here ready to go at 7:30 am!” He writes ‘7:30’ on the whiteboard and underlines it once. 

“Seven-thirty?” Sam makes a face. “That’s so early.”

“We can sleep on the bus,” Mike points out. 

“Exactly, Mike! I also have the order of performance. Aural Intensity is up first, we’re in the middle, and the Liberteens will close the performance out.” 

“So we’re in the middle? That’s, uh…” Finn trails off. “Good?”

“Some people like the middle,” Puck says blandly. 

A laugh bursts out of Finn like he just can’t help it. “Yeah, I guess some people do!”

“The performance starts at 2:15, just like Sectionals, and there’s a ten minute intermission between each group, so in theory we should be wrapped up, trophy in hand, by 4:30 or so. Needless to say, that won’t put us back here until quite late Saturday evening, so you’ll want to let your parents know.”

Puck tries not to snort, because really, it’s not like his mom would notice, but hell, maybe they can convince Burt he should spend Saturday night with Kurt, too. 

“The girls are welcome to come sleepover at my house,” Quinn interjects into the silence that follows. Mercedes nods, Santana looks thoughtful, and Brittany just looks at Santana. Puck decides to shoot a glare at Finn, just in case Finn gets any bright ideas about all the guys crashing at the Hudmel house or something. 

“What?” Finn mouths back at Puck, shaking his head. Puck just shrugs slightly. 

“All right, any other comments?” Schue looks around the room. “No? Great! Let’s rehearse!”

 

“Won’t your dad flip?”

“Dad loves _Parks & Recreation_, and Carole loves _Grey’s Anatomy_. As long as it’s open by ten, Dad won’t know there’s anything to flip _about_.”

“Does this mean what I hope it means?” Puck grins. 

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah you do.”

“Mmm. Maybe,” Kurt admits, and Puck steps behind him, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist and letting his hands slide under Kurt’s sweater. 

Puck buries his face in Kurt’s neck, taking a deep breath. “Please.”

“When you ask so nicely…” Kurt trails off, leaning back against Puck’s chest. 

“Finally,” Puck can’t help but say, pulling Kurt’s sweater upwards slowly, trailing his fingertips over Kurt’s torso. Kurt catches his breath and Puck grins, pulling away to guide the sweater over Kurt’s head before tossing it aside. Kurt turns towards Puck, head tilting to the side and a little smirk on his face. 

“What, baby?”

“You know what,” Puck murmurs, brushing his lips over Kurt’s and running a hand down Kurt’s chest before slowly starting to work at the knot. “So hot, blue eyes.” Puck moves his mouth to Kurt’s ear, catching the lobe gently in his teeth as he pulls the silk from Kurt’s collar and drops it to the floor. 

Kurt exhales, leaning his head back. “Been waiting all day.”

Puck chuckles. “I know.” He shakes his head as he unbuttons Kurt’s shirt only to discover one of those fucking undershirts that yeah, Kurt probably needs for warmth or whatever, but still. He pushes Kurt’s shirt off his shoulders and then teases his fingers at Kurt’s waistband, untucking everything and finally brushing against Kurt’s skin. 

Kurt presses their lips together again, his tongue insistent against Puck’s lips, and Puck runs his thumb in light circles over Kurt’s side while they kiss, Kurt deepening the kiss and running one hand over Puck’s head. When Kurt pulls away for just a moment, gasping slightly, Puck grabs the undershirt and pulls it over Kurt’s head in one motion. 

“Fuck,” Puck groans, lowering his head to Kurt’s exposed skin, taking one tiny nipple in his mouth for a moment before repeating it with the second. “Want you so bad, K.”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees, drawing out the last syllable, and Puck drops to his knees, using his teeth with his hands to unfasten Kurt’s jeans and slowly draw them down. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” explodes out of Puck’s mouth as Kurt’s jeans slide away, leaving him standing in a tiny scrap of underwear and nothing else. 

Kurt giggles and slowly turns around as Puck sits back on his heels. “What, baby?”

“I said, oh, _fuck_ ,” Puck repeats with a grin. He raises himself back up on his knees and puts his mouth over the straining erection trying to burst free. “Fuck,” he repeats again, standing back up. 

“What do you want, Puck?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Puck breathes, sliding a hand over Kurt’s cock. “I want you to—fuck, so hot, K—I want you to take me from behind.”

“Do you want me to leave these on?” Kurt teases, voice low. “Just my cock slipping out the side, pounding into you?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Please.” Puck closes his eyes. “Hard. Now.”

Kurt’s hands are on Puck’s belt before Puck finishes the last syllable, and Puck steps out of his pants and underwear as Kurt pulls off Puck’s shirt and then pushes him towards the bed. Puck turns onto his hands and knees and listens to Kurt slamming the drawer closed and slapping his hand over his cock. “Mine,” Kurt hums, one hand on Puck’s ass, and Puck nods affirmatively as Kurt pushes inside with no prep. It burns and stings and Puck closes his head, pushing back into it until Kurt’s fully inside him, their balls gently rubbing together, and Puck sighs.

“Fuck, blue eyes.”

“Okay.” Kurt laughs, thrusting his hips forward just a bit. “Good, baby?”

“So good,” Puck agrees, as Kurt starts to move, his hands tight on Puck’s hips. Kurt starts out hard and fast, and Puck holds himself in place, letting Kurt move into him. 

“God, baby, you’re so tight.” Kurt’s voice is high and breathless. “Been too long. _Fuck_.” Kurt’s hand grabs Puck’s cock, pumping up and down as he pounds into Puck’s ass, still talking. “Love being inside you, love the sounds you make, love your cock, need you, need you so much. Need you, Puck, want you to come for me, come for me, baby, _please_ ,” and somewhere in there, there’s a faint hum, and Puck does as Kurt says, coming hard and he’s pretty sure he’s yelling, then Kurt cries out too, and Puck can feel Kurt filling him before they both slide onto the bed, spent. 

“Let’s be totally lame,” Puck mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go to sleep now. Ridiculously early.”

“Okay.” Kurt acquiesces, starting to pull the duvet over them before he pauses and slides out of the bed, opening the door, dumping their clothes in a pile on the far side of the bed, and then turning out the lamp as he positions himself back in Puck’s arms. “There. ’Night, baby.”

Puck grins and closes his eyes. “’Night, blue eyes.”

 

Nine am rehearsal actually means sleeping in, then getting to work on Kurt’s tie after a sit-down breakfast, so Puck figures the day is already looking good by the time they stop in front of Finn’s door and knock. 

“Finn? Ready?” Kurt calls.

“Just a second!” Finn yells from inside his room. “Just, one more second!” There’s a lot of bumping around and a flurry of other noises from Finn’s room, before he pulls the door open finally. “Hey guys.”

Finn’s tie is a little crooked, but other than that, he looks ready to get on stage. “Ready, dude?” Puck asks, sliding his arm around Kurt.

“I wish today were the day,” Finn says. “I’m tired of rehearsing. I just want to get on with it.”

“At least we can do the movement in our sleep and sing our parts without thinking,” Kurt points out as they head down the stairs. “Right?”

“It’s a little weird to wake up when you’re doing step–cross–step–left, K.”

Kurt laughs. “Says you. Don’t think I didn’t catch that move with your arms.”

“You two,” Finn snorts, shaking his head. “Seriously.”

“You know, that move he always does,” Kurt persists. 

“Oh, I know the move,” Finn says. “He always does the move. Every single dance, dude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just do the choreography.” Puck looks at them askance as they leave the house. “Really.”

“Of course you do,” Kurt says, at the same time Finn says, “Sure you do.”

“Hmph.” Puck shakes his head. “Instead, let’s bet on who will complain first.”

“I bet on Mercedes,” Finn says. “I bet you lunch.”

“Mmm, lunch. You’re buying if it’s Quinn.”

“Hey, who’m I supposed to pick now?”

“Whoever loses buys your lunch, too,” Finn says. “You can, um. Be the house or whatever. House always wins, right? Or you’re not supposed to bet against it? Anyway, there’s some kind of rule about the house, so you can be that.”

“Okay. I’ll be the house.” Puck snorts. “As long as I don’t have to be House.”

“It’s never lupus, dude. Not ever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” With that, they arrive at the school and head towards the auditorium, where Tina gives them a surprised look.

“No coffee cups?”

“Lots of sleep. Real breakfast.”

“It’s a miracle what more than six hours can do,” Kurt agrees.

“No more zombies,” Finn says, proudly. 

“Brains! Brains!” Puck can’t resist saying anyway, laughing. 

“At least two between the three of us,” Finn agrees. 

“I cannot believe I am up this early on a day I don’t have school.” Mercedes appears in the doorway after her pronouncement, and Puck turns to grin at Finn.

“Guess lunch is on you, dude.”

“No way, my guess was right! Lunch is on Kurt!”

“You know, there’s a problem with me being the house.”

“Fine, Kurt can be the house. Or I will. Whatever. You buy Kurt’s lunch, he’ll buy mine, and I’ll buy yours,” Finn says. “That makes it all work out. Everybody wins.”

“You could just each buy your own lunch?” Mike suggests with a grin. 

“Where would the fun be in that?” Kurt shrugs. 

“It’s a matter of principle, dude,” Finn says, looking at Mike like he’s said something crazy. 

“Oh, well, then. By all means.”

“We’re here,” Santana announces unnecessarily as she walks in, Brittany beside her and Quinn attempting to look disinterested behind them. “Are we all here?”

“I’m not here,” Sam says cheerfully. “I’m just a hologram.”

“Oh, no! That’s sad. I hope Real Sam is back in time for the bus tomorrow,” Brittany says. 

“I’m sure he will be, Britt,” Santana says, rolling her eyes at Sam. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Rachel bursts in. “My car wouldn’t start at first!”

“You need a tune-up.”

“She needs to check the alternator,” Finn says. Kurt looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. “What? I listen when you talk, ok?”

Kurt grins. “All right.”

“Let’s do this thing. So we can go back to being slothful.” Puck grins. 

“Ten toes.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Did you lose some toes, Finn?” Kurt asks.

“Yes. It explains my dancing, right?”

“Good point.” Kurt shrugs. “Any last minute costume adjustments, anyone?”

There’s a bunch of heads shaking, and then they all look to Finn. 

“Let’s do this thing, so I can give the pep talk after,” Finn says. “From the top, getting it all right this time.”

And they do, going through the entire set without any flaws, then sitting down on the stage once the music ends. “Forgot your pom-poms, man.” Puck smirks at Finn. 

“I don’t need pom-poms when I have you,” Finn says. “Go shake something at them, then I’ll do my speech.”

Puck laughs and stands up, turning around and shaking his ass for a second. “Like that?”

“Always ass with you, dude.”

Puck shrugs and sits back down. “What can I say?” There’s some scattered laughter and when Puck looks over at Kurt, he’s trying to hold back the giggles, hand over his mouth. 

Finn grins hugely at Puck, then turns back to the rest of the group. “So, it’s been a rough past month.”

“Personally, I think it makes it all more interesting.” Santana shrugs. “We’re still awesome.”

“We _are_ awesome,” Kurt agrees with her. 

“The point is,” Finn says, raising his voice a little. “The point is, we had a great rehearsal today, everybody was really professional, and we looked and sounded awesome, just like Kurt said. We’re awesome. We’re gonna go out there tomorrow, we’re gonna do it right, and then next stop, New York, right?” He glances over at Kurt. “We’re getting you guys back there.”

“Half of the time we’re gone but we don’t know where.” Kurt smiles a little. 

“We’re a family. An obnoxious, loud family that fights a lot, and gets drunk at holidays and embarrasses ourselves, and writes each other out of the wills on our death beds or whatever, but we’re a family. Let’s remember that, ok? You guys are my family, even when we don’t all like each other that much,” Finn finishes.

“Good thing some of us are only related by marriage,” Tina quips, “or what we get up to away from here would get us in trouble.” She laughs, squeezing Mike’s hand.

A strange look crosses Finn’s face and he studiously does not look at Kurt. He glances over at Puck, and then just as studiously looks away from Puck. “Yeah, that uh. Would be trouble.”

“Does anyone know if Schue’s bringing Ms. P again?” Rachel asks, laughing a little. “Speaking of trouble and families.”

“If I had to bet, I’d say yes,” Finn says. “And since I’m good at betting today, probably yes.”

Everyone laughs and starts to head out the doors. “Make sure you bring everything for your costume,” Kurt calls out. “I have extra socks and ties for the guys, and extra stockings for the girls, but that’s it.”

“No stockings for the guys?” Artie asks. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t get my legs waxed so they’ll look good in them?”

“Hey, if you want to get your legs waxed, go for it,” Puck laughs. “But I think the guys would all look a little ridiculous in stockings.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Artie says. “Not that I’ve tried it.”

“Report back to us when you have?” Kurt says sweetly, grinning. 

“Not sure I’m the best test subject for that,” Artie says. “There’s a leg issue. Mike? Finn? Maybe one of you could take one for the team.”

“I really think that, as the leader, Finn should set the example,” Mike says solemnly. 

“Lady Coco never reveals her secrets,” Finn says, deadpan.

Puck snorts as the rest of them laugh. “Good to know,” Puck manages as they head out into the parking lot. “Guess we’ll find out at Pride?” He looks innocently at Finn. 

“Uh. No.”

“Damn. Too bad.” Puck shrugs and opens the Nav. “Maybe another year.”

“Something totally different in mind, anyway,” Finn says. 

“I can’t even imagine how big Pride’ll be in New York.”

Finn’s face falls momentarily, then goes right back into his normal smile. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll come out and go with you some time, dude,” he says, obviously trying to keep his tone light. “No heels, though. I can’t walk in those things.”

“No, you really can’t,” Kurt giggles. “Some nice flats, maybe.”

“What are those ones with nothing on the backs? Clogs?”

“Exactly.” Kurt beams at him. “All right, clogs.”

“I’m just wondering what kind of wig you’re going to get.”

“I don’t think I’d make a very good blonde,” Finn says. “What do you think? Maybe I’ll go with something like how Tina’s got her hair now.”

“Just don’t dye it orange first,” Puck advises.

“Bad color on me.”

“Orange is kinda a bad color on almost everyone, especially for _hair_.”

“And now,” Kurt crows. “Motorsport!” He kills the engine and smirks. “I am so going to own your asses.”

“Uhhh,” Finn says, looking in Kurt’s direction, and then over at Puck. 

Puck laughs. “Okay, blue eyes.”

“Metaphorically.” Kurt says, rolling his eyes slightly. 

“Literally,” Finn mutters, under his breath, barely loud enough for Puck to hear him.

Puck suppresses a snort as they walk back into the house and up the stairs. “But first, we change clothes,” Kurt points out. 

“No more tie!” Finn says, already loosening the knot on his as he disappears into his room. “I love no more tie!”

Puck pouts in Kurt’s direction, and Kurt just laughs, pulling him into the bedroom. “I know, I know, baby,” he says, still laughing. “Poor you.”

“At least I get to take it off, right?”

“Of course.” Kurt pushes Puck to sit on the bed, then straddles his lap. “If you want to do the honors.”

“Mmm. Dangerous.” Puck unties the knot and lets the tie hang. “Need more time.”

“Always,” Kurt agrees, kissing him softly before standing back up. “Always need more time.”

Puck’s still rummaging in his bag for a shirt when Finn appears at the door. “Ready to be sloths?” Finn asks. “Oh, probably you’ll want shirts first, though. Kurt’ll get cold.”

“Picky, picky,” Kurt shakes his head, picking up a sweater out of a drawer and pulling it on. 

“I’d love it if I could find one,” Puck grumbles. “I swear, I keep finding the same pair of jeans in here.”

“Need a loaner?” Finn asks. “I can grab you a sweatshirt or something.”

“Aha!” Puck exclaims. “Damn hiding thing.” He pulls the shirt on and shakes his head. “Nah, but thanks.”

“You should just keep some clothes here. Then you wouldn’t have to look for them.”

“We’ll let you run that one past Dad,” Kurt says. “Since you seem to be the Burt–Whisperer.”

“Don’t ask. Just stash them in my room or in your closet, dude. He doesn’t ever look in there.”

“That’s true.” Kurt shrugs. “I think it may have been when I threatened to remove all the beer from the house for a year if he went in my closet again.”

Puck laughs. “Why, what’d he do?”

“He touched every single piece of clothing. Which, I know. I sound awful. But it was right after work.”

“Ouch!” Finn says. “Did it wash out?”

“Eventually.” Kurt shrugs and heads down the stairs. “Luckily I hit my growth spurt soon after.” 

“Which one?” Puck can’t help but ask, running his hand down Kurt’s back. 

Kurt turns with a little grin. “The one that gave me enough height to do this without standing on my tip-toes.” He wraps his arms around Puck’s neck and pulls him close, kissing him slowly and running his tongue along Puck’s lips until they part, and Kurt slips his tongue inside. Puck brings his arms around Kurt’s waist until they’re flush against each other, running his own tongue along Kurt’s. 

Kurt pulls away with a little smirk, and Puck laughs. “Yeah, okay. _That_ one.”

“Yeah, yeah, you guys are adorable,” Finn says, rolling his eyes. “Video games now?”

Kurt makes a strange face at that, and then walks into the living room, so Puck follows him. “You know he’s just going to kill us at this.”

“Worse ways to go, dude,” Finn shrugs. “Getting our asses kicked by Kurt in Motorsport is, like, art, almost.”

“It’s because I’m so wonderful.” Kurt shrugs, standing at the Xbox console almost thoughtfully. Puck drops onto the sofa and catches the controller that Kurt tosses him. “Why don’t you two play? Winner plays me.”

Finn flumps onto the other end of the sofa, and Kurt tosses him the other controller as he turns on the television. “Sounds like a plan!”

Kurt walks over to them and grins at Puck before sitting between them and then turning sideways, throwing his legs over Finn and laying his head back on Puck’s legs. “Hi.”

Puck grins and looks down. “Hey. Are you trying to distract me?”

“Just getting comfortable.”

“Watch the feet,” Finn says, propping his elbows on Kurt’s legs. 

“Watch the calves,” Kurt retorts.

Puck laughs. “I definitely will win if Finn does that instead of watching the screen.”

“See? I’m helpful!” Kurt laughs, then turns his head slightly, and Puck bites on his lower lip for a second, because that’s not really going to help Puck concentrate. 

“Watch the knees,” Finn yelps. “Not fair!”

“Hmm?” Kurt grins.

“Sorry, dude.” Puck laughs. 

“You’re right. He’s very distracting,” Finn says. “With those _knees_.”

“I got the better end, what can I say?”

“Every part of me is the better end.”

“This end is fine, if it would stop knocking my controller around,” Finn grumbles. “This end is the cheater end.”

“It’s not cheating,” Kurt says loftily. “It can’t be cheating if I’m not playing.”

“Yeah. What he said,” Puck agrees, nodding. 

“Then it’s some sort of unholy alliance between you two. Either way, I should have just sat here and let you play.”

“I think he’s accusing us of nefarious plotting, K.”

“Why do people always suspect me of these things?” Kurt laments. 

“We are the ones who wanted to jackhammer the roads of Lima,” Puck points out. 

“Oh. True.”

“Wait, there’s a jackhammer now? When did I miss that?” Finn asks. 

“It was just a thought, to increase the interesting things to do at work,” Kurt says mildly. 

“Tear up the roads, it tears up the underneath–whatever of low cars.” Puck shrugs. “Hey, speaking of cars, did they finish up with Casey’s car?”

“I need to call. Maybe we can pick it up after class.”

“Yellow,” Finn says, shaking his head. “Not a color I’d ever pick for a car.”

“I sort of expected black, or maybe red,” Kurt concedes. “But yellow it is.”

“Hey, if it makes him happy, not that he wouldn’t be happy in general. I mean, it _is_ a car.” Finn laughs a little. “I bet Karofsky’s gonna worry sick any time Casey drives it anywhere, though. Maybe we should take up a collection for blood pressure meds, too. Hey, _hey_ , _legs_ , Kurt!” Finn shifts a little on the sofa, so Kurt’s legs resettle closer to Finn’s knees. 

Puck laughs. “You have a thing about legs, dude!”

“He does,” Kurt agrees, nodding his head slightly and making Puck shift in place a little.

“Yeah, kinda,” Finn shrugs. “You’ve got a thing about asses. We all have a thing about something.”

“I’ll add it to your file.”

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to know about the files?” Puck asks. 

“Oh, well. He probably won’t believe us.”

Puck considers that for a few moments before nodding. “Good point.” Plus, it sounds more interesting than it really is – Kurt’s files of information on people he usually buys gifts for. 

“You two always talk about me like I’m not here,” Finn says. “I am, you know. Right here. You’ve got your legs on me.”

“You’re a wonderful ottoman–brother,” Kurt says. “Brother–ottoman? Either way it sounds like we’re in some weird religious Turkish thing.”

“No, I’m a waffle,” Finn says. “Put _that_ in your file.”

“Already there,” Puck laughs. “That’s important.”

“Damn straight it is.”

“Are we allowed to say that?” Kurt asks, and Puck can’t help but laugh. 

Finn shrugs. “Who makes the rules? I dunno. Not me, probably.”

“I have wondered before what would happen if I started saying ‘damn bent’, instead.”

“People would be confused, is what would happen. Which, you know, they might be confused anyway, so I guess you should say it however you want,” Finn says.

“Are you saying I’m confusing, or that most people are confused?” Kurt frowns a little. “Is it time for me to play yet?”

“Not yet.” Puck laughs. 

“Noooahhhh.”

“Is either of those answers gonna not get me kicked in the junk?” Finn asks. “I’ll go with that one.”

“I prefer to think of other people as confusing.” Kurt looks up at Puck and smiles a little. “Right?”

“Sure.”

“If you’re happy with that answer, then awesome, we’ll go with that!” Finn grins.

“We’re not really going to lunch, are we? I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“I could go check the fridge for surprise mushrooms,” Finn says. 

“Mmm, I don’t think I bought any on Tuesday. Pity. Surprise frozen entrees?”

“You know, I’d get up and fix something, but I’ve got legs on my lap.”

“It’s not lunchtime yet, anyway.” Kurt shrugs. “You can fix something after Puck beats you and I work on beating him.”

“It’s suddenly very violent up in here.”

“Make love, not war?” Puck says innocently.

“You know that dumb face doesn’t work on us,” Kurt grins up at him. 

“Damn.”

“Nah, works on me,” Finn says. “I’m convinced.”

“One down, the world to go.”

“My car is a sad, sad little car,” Finn says, as his car careens off the course and into an abyss.

“I didn’t know it could do that,” Kurt admits, staring at the screen. “My turn, I suppose.” He swings his legs off Finn and sits up. “Time for lunch?”

“I could eat.” Puck shrugs. 

“It’s always time for lunch,” Finn says, shaking his head. “It’s like I’ve taught you nothing at all.”

“Sometimes it’s time for breakfast. Or dinner.”

“Any of those could be lunch, though, if you’re doing it right.”

“Finn, your mind is a strange place,” Kurt comments, taking the controller. “What are you fixing us?”

“I’ll go see what we have. Probably it’ll be pizza, unless mom ate the pizza, in which case, it’s probably something else,” Finn says. 

“Carole have any weird cravings while we were gone?” Puck asks. “Like pickles and ketchup?”

“Chicken salad sandwiches. The kind with the nuts in the chicken salad, like toasted nuts or whatever. She made this huge thing of it and she ate it two or three times a day for four days in a row,” Finn says. “It was pretty good, but when she found me eating it, she cried and yelled at me, and then she apologized for crying, and then she cried because she felt so bad about yelling at me.” Finn grins. “Then she ate the rest of my sandwich.”

“When is she going to tell us?” Kurt muses. “Everything must be going fine.”

“Maybe she’s getting some of those tests done first?” Puck shrugs. 

“I hope it’s not the one with the giant needle,” Finn says, shuddering. “That would totally freak Pretzel out.” He stands up and heads into the kitchen. “Wish me luck.”

“I don’t think Pretzel can see yet,” Kurt points out. “Right?”

“I think so?” Puck shrugs. “’Course who knows how big Pretzel is yet.”

 

"You should just ride back with us, dude," Puck points out as they're leaving their math class. "If you don't mind running over to the auto body place on Allentown, anyway."

Mike shrugs. "Sure, why not? Makes sense. What's at the auto body place?"

"Casey's car. Finn took it over there last weekend and Kurt called this morning, it's done, so we gotta get it back to Burt's shop."

"Oh, right, right." Mike nods. "Cool. Yeah, no prob. Meet you guys at Kurt's Nav?"

Puck nods. "Sounds good." Puck stretches out in the passenger seat with his earbuds and one of his notebooks, half-heartedly writing until Mike and Kurt both appear. 

"This is awesome, I get to see the car before almost everyone else."

"You should have seen it when we got it." Puck shakes his head. "Finn attacked the hood with a big rubber mallet thing."

"Yeah?" Mike laughs. "All three of you work on it?"

"I," Puck begins grandly, "had a clean copy of the owners' manual printed – _and_ bound. I also can wield a mean shop vac."

Mike laughs. "I'll take all that to mean that the actual repairs are all the work of Kurt?"

"That would be correct," Kurt nods. "I still need to do a few minor repairs, and my dad's going to go over the instrument panel, but she's almost ready."

"That's so cool. Tina, Brittany, Sam, and Mercedes and I are getting him a three–year AAA membership." 

"Oh, good." Kurt nods. He pulls into the auto body place and grins. “Look at that.”

“That… is a yellow car.” Puck laughs. “Very yellow.”

“That’s what he wanted.” Kurt shrugs and turns to Puck. “Follow me back?”

“Sure.” Puck climbs out and looks back at Mike. “You want to ride shotgun?”

“What? Oh sure!” Mike hops into the front. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Kinda be a relief to finally do it. At least there’s no snow predicted.”

Mike laughs as they pull out of the lot. “Good point. Damn, that car’s going to be well-known around here.”

“I know!” Puck chuckles. “There probably aren’t that many bright yellow cars zooming around Lima. Or even puttering.”

“At least it’s less likely to get stolen?” Mike says philosophically. 

“True.” Puck pulls into the lot and looks over at Mike. “Sorry, dude, back to the backseat.”

Mike laughs. “Unsurprising.”

When they get back to Kurt’s, Sam and Artie are already there, loitering in the kitchen with Finn. “Is it still lunchtime?” Kurt asks. 

“It’s _always_ lunchtime,” Finn says. “Well, except now it’s play Motorsports and everybody gets their asses owned by Kurt time, I guess.”

“It’s ottoman–brother time, while I wait for the rest of you to choose your champion.”

“I never get to be headrest–brother. Always ottoman–brother.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” Kurt quips.

“Oh, so _that’s_ how Lady Coco rolls,” Puck laughs. “How does a bridesmaid’s dress go with clogs, though?”

“It’s a clogging dress, like they wear at the state fair, dude. Get with the program!”

“Hey, I put Hannah in hip-hop, not clogging.”

“That actually explains something,” Sam says. “Namely, where Stevie’s been getting these new dance moves.”

“Guess Hannah can’t be my bridesmaid. Oh _snap_!” Finn says.

“Suddenly I’m very grateful I don’t have a sister,” Artie says.

“Oh, darn. Hannah’ll be crushed. Guess I’ll have to consider letting her be mine.”

“Yeah, she’ll hate that, dude,” Finn says. “Having to be your bridesmaid instead of mine, that’s a life–ruiner. Maybe Kurt’ll be my bridesmaid.”

“I think not.” Kurt sticks his tongue out. He turns to the refrigerator and pulls out several cans of pop, and as he hands one to Finn, he grins. “Dibs on Pretzel.”

“Life–ruiner!” Finn says, shaking his fist dramatically. “Dibs on being the ottoman, I guess.”

“Ottoman–brother for life.”

“I think they might be using drugs,” Artie stage-whispers to Sam. “This is sort of terrifying to watch.”

“C’mon, let’s play,” Puck says, shaking his head and laughing. “And what if _I_ wanted Pretzel?”

“You’re both life–ruiners for life.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t let the three of them alone until _after_ the competition,” Sam says, shaking his head and looking bewildered. Finn starts to snicker. 

“We could observe them. Sociology or something,” Mike suggests.

“First, we should put them in some kind of isolation chamber,” Artie says. “Might be safer.”

“Might be enough for a doctoral thesis,” Kurt counters.

“I don’t want to be in a chamber,” Finn says. “I want to be on the sofa. That’s where I’m going now.”

They generally seem to agree that it’s not a bad plan, and Puck slouches on the other side, before Kurt drops into the same position as earlier. “Uh, comfortable, there, Kurt?” Sam asks.

“I am.”

Finn carefully arranges Kurt’s legs across his lap. “No feet this time. Your feet are bony.”

“They are not. I’m putting that into your file, too: insults my feet.”

“Your feet are great. Sorry. Put in my file that I apologized to your feet.”

“You keep files?” Mike asks. “I thought you were joking about that.”

“Of course. It’s like an incredibly fashionable KGB.”

“Why do you think he keeps everything passcode–locked?” Puck points out. 

“Even the Nav. He keeps the files in there, I swear,” Finn says. 

“No one would ever suspect that.” Kurt shakes his head and Puck makes a face at him, which only serves to make Kurt grin and shake his head again. 

“So, whose ass is Kurt kicking first?” 

 

Carole wakes them up at 6:15 the next morning with way too much energy for someone who’s baking a Pretzel, in Puck’s opinion, but what does he know? Whatever it is, she fixes all three of them another huge breakfast – complete with bacon and homemade waffles, plus huge travel mugs of coffee when they head up to the school to meet the rest of them. 

Puck notices a brief look of surprise on Mercedes’ face when Tina comments on the coffee, but enough of the rest of the club thinks it’s perfectly normal for Puck to be at the Hudmel place all the time that it must convince her, or at least convince her not to ask any questions. 

Schue arrives with Ms. P at 7:29, which seems like it’s cutting it a bit close to Puck, but whatever. “Great! You’re all here. Everyone have their costumes?”

There’s a sea of nodding heads, and one head shaking no. “I forgot my Freddy Krueger mask.”

“You don’t need one, Lopez,” Puck says with a grin, and she flips him off. “Love you too.”

“Aww, so sweet,” Santana says, smirking at him. 

“That is what people say when they think of me.”

“Okay, okay, enough, guys,” Schue says with a grin, shaking his head. “Let’s everyone load up onto the bus!”

“Yeah, somebody’s, uh, chipper this morning,” Finn says to Puck, jerking his head in Schue’s direction. “So gross.”

Puck pretends to puke. “Yeah, I’d rather not think about that, thanks.”

“Sorry. I’ll give you some gum on the bus, get that taste out of your mouth.”

“What we really need are curtains. So we don’t have to look at it for the next four hours.”

“Or certain other parties, while we’re at it,” Kurt says with a yawn.

“You need a hoodie,” Finn says. “Just pull it up over your head. You can make your hair nice again after we get there.”

“People can still see you if you just use a hoodie.”

“I’ll stand in the aisle and be your curtain,” Finn offers. “Or a wall, I guess. I’m not very fluttery or fabric-y.”

“Maybe a shade? Blinds?” Kurt muses. “But I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to stand while we’re moving.”

“You want the window?” Puck asks, as the take a seat toward the back of the bus, and Kurt shakes his head, so Puck slides in against the window and Kurt sits next to him. 

“I hate the heat on these things. Or lack thereof.”

“You should have brought a blanket,” Finn says, turning around and talking over the back of the seat in front of them. “You want my jacket? You can both huddle in it for warmth.”

“I put my two months of Cub Scouts to use,” Puck laughs, grabbing his backpack. “See? Blanket.”

“Ooh.” Kurt grins and wraps it around himself. “What else did you bring in order to be prepared?”

Puck smirks. “Oh, you know. Necessities. Chocolate.”

“Between us, we have an interesting assortment of items.”

“I have duct tape,” Finn says. “And gum. And Poptarts, but those are for me.”

“I won’t be hungry for hours.” Kurt shakes his head. “That breakfast was huge.”

“Emergency Poptarts, just in case.”

“Where are we eating lunch?”

“Didn’t Schue say something about a restaurant he’d go pick up food from? Hamburgers or hot dogs or something.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

By the time they hit Toledo and head east, most of the girls are asleep, plus Sam and Mike, and Artie and Rachel are discussing something about lighting on stages. Finn talks to them for awhile until he decides to save his neck muscles and listen to music instead, and by the time the signs say ‘Fremont’, he’s asleep, too. 

“I’m not tired.”

“Yeah, me either.” Puck laughs. “First time all week.”

“There’s something ironic about that.”

“Probably.” Puck slides his arm around Kurt, underneath the blanket, forcing their sides together. He lowers his voice, brushing his lips against Kurt’s ear. “I love you.”

Kurt turns slightly to grin at him. “I know.” Kurt’s hand squeezes Puck’s thigh. “I love you, too.”

“I’m going to give you a really big one after we finish.”

“I was somewhat expecting that.” Kurt smirks a little and Puck grins. 

Schue wakes everyone up when they’re forty-five minutes outside Cleveland by passing around a copy of the menu for the place Schue picked for lunch. “Write down what you want on the second sheet of paper, and we’ll pick the order up on our way in,” he instructs, and there’s some rolling of eyes as he starts the menu circulating. 

The place has chocolate milkshakes, though, and Puck orders one plus a cream soda to go with his meatball sub. 

“I think I’ll have a couple of Chicago dogs.” Kurt studies the menu thoughtfully. “Ooh, and a pretzel.”

“No milkshake?”

“I’ll just steal a sip of yours,” Kurt retorts, writing down that he wants a root beer. 

“Oh.” Puck shrugs. “Yeah, true.”

“I want a bologna sandwich, and one of those biscuit dog things,” Finn says.

“Milkshake?”

“Sure!”

When the menu makes its way to Rachel, she squeals over the vegan burger, which makes Puck wince. Maybe he’s not giving it enough credit, but it just sounds awful. Finally everyone orders and it takes Schue awhile to call in the order, but it’s waiting by the time the bus driver finds the place. Schue distributes the drinks and sure enough, before they park, Kurt’s had at least two sips. 

“Thief.”

Kurt shrugs. “I did warn you.”

“Morally responsible thief. Interesting.”

Schue makes them hang out in the lobby with their food, which isn’t the best way to eat, since there’s no tables, while he and Ms. Pillsbury go to check-in. “Great!” Schue says when he comes back. “We have blocking at noon, dressing room at 1:30, warm-up room at 2:00. House opens at 1:50 and curtain goes up at 2:15. As I said, we’re in the middle, so we should be performing right around 2:45.”

Puck frowns for moment. Dr. V said to take a Xanax an hour ahead, so 1:45, between getting dressed and warming up. He nods a little to himself. That should work. Before they can head off to their green room, though, they’re stopped by a familiar voice. 

“Well, hello there. Fancy meetin’ you here.”

“You’re out of your natural habitat,” Kurt retorts with a smile. “Avoiding putting on that hideous dress?”

“Damn straight. Not straight.”

“Damn bent.”

“Hey, yeah! Damn bent.” April laughs. “You guys ready for this?” She threads her arm through Kurt’s and then winds her other one through Puck’s, and Puck figures they can probably pull this off by now, since she knows Finn from Facebook and shit. 

“We’ve been ready,” Puck asserts. 

“And how was New York?”

“God.” Kurt sighs. “Perfect.”

“Yeah?”

Puck nods, aware of the curious eyes on them. “It’s…”

“Home.”

“Yeah.”

“So two of your friends came back last week. The tiny one and the huge one. Little dude looked a lot better. So what’s their deal? They together or not?”

“If you figure out the answer, let us know?” Kurt answers lightly. “No, they’re not, but.”

“Ahh.” April nods. “A ‘but’ situation. Big guy – Darren? Dwayne?”

“David. Dave.”

“Yeah, David. He’s determined to get food into the little one. ‘Another bite, Case. Case, that’s not real food, that’s candy’.”

Puck shrugs. “Casey’s not exactly had an easy time. Ever, I don’t think.”

April sighs. “I worried it was something like that. Well, at least he has someone looking out for him. Sometimes they have to go back to it.”

Kurt nods, pressing his lips together. “That’s not a concern anymore, at least.” He smiles a little. “And we’re getting him a car for his birthday.”

“A car!”

“It’s an ’85 Pontiac Trans-Am, we got it for $100,” Kurt explains. “I’ve been fixing it up and a bunch of the kids from PFLAG are getting him gas cards and AAA membership and insurance and things.”

“Oh, that’s so cool.” April grins. “You’re like the car fairy. Pun fully intended.”

“I represent that remark.”

“Kurt! Puck!” 

“Our erstwhile sponsor calls. See you after?”

“You bet!” April flings her arms around each of them in turn. “Break a leg, boys.”

“You too!”

They finish up the blocking by 12:20, and they all loiter in the green room, waiting for 1:30 to arrive, which gives everyone plenty of time to start going a little crazy. Rachel launches into a long monologue about famous performers and where they got their start, and surprisingly, Sam joins in with a monologue of his own about child stars in the country music business. 

“Okay, everyone!” Ms. Pillsbury appears, and Puck is thankful that she cuts off Mercedes’ rant about – well, Puck stopped paying attention to anyone’s rant around 12:45, and Kurt’s been attacking the costumes with a needle and thread for the last twenty minutes. “It’s time to get dressed!”

Everyone troops into their respective dressing rooms, and Puck changes quickly, standing in front of the mirror to tie his tie, catching Kurt’s eye for a moment, and Kurt smiles slightly. 

“Kurt, I ruined it,” Finn says, suddenly. “I messed it all up!” He holds up his tie, which is partially untied, what remains of the knot totally mangled, and a look of utter distress on Finn’s face. “I broke my tie!”

“Oh, Finn.” Kurt sighs and shakes his head. “Hang on a second.” He straightens his own tie and holds out his hand. “Here.”

“Dude, what are you going to do if you’re out on a date or something?”

“Not wear a tie, I guess? Or have Kurt tie me a bunch and I’ll bring them with me to college!”

“The pre-college Finn Hudson Tie–Tying Extravaganza.”

“Shit, what _am_ I gonna do without you to tie my ties,” Finn says, knitting his eyebrows together. “Maybe I can mail them to you when I mess them up.”

“You could learn to tie one yourself?” Kurt suggests, handing Finn back his tie. “It’s not that difficult.”

“My hands are too big. The ties are too small.”

“Kurt’s right, Finn,” Artie says. “Even Puck has mastered the tie.”

“Practice,” Puck smirks.

“But I don’t have to learn how,” Finn says, stubbornly. “I have Kurt. Kurt can tie them. It’s something I don’t _have_ to learn.”

Kurt shakes his head, and Puck laughs. “Don’t change, man.”

They head out of the dressing room in a group, but Puck stops at the water fountain, because it’s close enough to an hour before performing, and then joins the rest of them back in the green room. They’re just finishing warming up when Quinn speaks up. 

“Mr. Schue, are there any policies on illicit drug use at competition?” 

“Illicit drug use?” Schue looks confused. “Quinn, if you’ve seen something about one of the competition…”

“I just don’t want our chances in this competition ruined because someone on this team is using a controlled substance,” Quinn says, with a simpering little smile.

“Quinn, that’s a serious accusation. What are you talking about?” 

Kurt looks at Puck, who shrugs. Who knows what’s going through her head? Maybe she bought pot and is trying to plant it on one of them. Puck frowns. Well, at least he and Kurt and Finn have each other as alibis for most of the time.

“Someone on this team is taking some kind of pill.”

“It’s not illegal to take some aspirin or whatever,” Sam points out mildly. “Maybe they have a headache.”

“These were from a prescription bottle,” Quinn snaps. “They weren’t aspirin. They were tranquilizers.”

Schue’s face hardens. “Quinn, that’s a pretty serious accusation. Who was it?”

“What would happen to them?”

“I suppose there would have to be a written disciplinary action with the school. If action were taken, and we did win, we might be disqualified,” Schue says slowly. Puck frowns, because he has a bad feeling about all of this.

“I think you should talk to Puck, Mr. Schue,” Quinn says. “I think he could give you more details about what I’m talking about.”

Finn frowns, then looks at Quinn with the same look he had on his face the day he pulled Johannson and Fordham off Puck in the locker room. If the room had lockers, Finn might be considering throwing her into one. 

“Oh, for fucks’ sake,” Puck snaps. “Sorry, Mr. Schue. But for crying out loud, Quinn? Really? Now I’m a druggie?”

“I don’t know, Puck. Are you? Because I recognize those pills. My mother’s been taking them since the divorce,” Quinn says, glaring. 

“Puck?” Mr. Schue asks. “Did you take any pills?”

“Let’s see. I go _to my doctor_ , who _writes me a prescription_ , which I get filled, and then I take _as prescribed_. Pretty sure that’s allowed.” He glares at Quinn and then Schue for good measure. “Ask Ms. P if you don’t believe me.”

Santana’s staring at Puck, then back at Quinn. “Seriously, this is what we’re doing right before we compete, Quinn?”

“Quinn, it’s not nice to spy on people,” Brittany says. “You shouldn’t look at their bottles.”

“Look, Puck, why don’t you just explain—”

“I’m not obligated to discuss _my medical history_ in front of the entire club,” Puck interrupts him. “I told you. Ask Ms. Pillsbury. I have the necessary paperwork to carry my meds.” Puck crosses his arms across his chest. 

“All right, all right.” Schue holds up his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Schue leaves the room, it seems like everyone starts talking at once, most of them either staring at Puck or glancing at him sideways, trying to act as if they aren’t. Kurt’s just glaring at Quinn, and Finn is clenching his fists until his knuckles are white. 

“So you have a doctor who just happens to prescribe tranquilizers?” Quinn smirks. “Right. That sounds totally plausible.”

“I don’t owe you— _any_ of you—any explanation. Would everyone like to bring _their_ medical records to school on Monday? You are such a fucking bitch.”

“I had my tonsils out when I was eleven,” Brittany says. “I didn’t get to keep them, but I have pictures.”

Kurt turns to smile at Brittany. “That’s weirdly cool, Britt.”

“I’ll show you the pictures on Monday. Well, not all of you. Just Puck. Maybe Kurt. ’Tana’s already seen them.”

“Thanks, Brittany,” Puck laughs. 

“I’d bring mine, but it’s kind of a thick file,” Artie says. “Might cut into our school time. I will, though. Quinn can have first peek. I hear the X-rays are particularly exciting.”

“I had a hernia operation when I was six.” Sam shrugs. “But the file’s in Tennessee.”

Schue reappears then, looking a little red-faced, Ms. Pillsbury trailing behind him. “Quinn, if you’d join me in the hallway, please,” Ms. P says.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I was looking out for the well-being of this team,” Quinn protests. 

“Quinn,” Ms. P says, sternly, and nods her head in the direction of the door. Quinn stomps out and Ms. P follows behind her, giving Puck a quick, apologetic glance before shutting the door behind herself. 

“I am so sorry, Puck,” Schue says. “I— I don’t know why.” He stops himself. “Just, I’m really, really sorry. I had no idea. None.” He turns a very apologetic glance on Puck, and Puck shrugs and dips his head. Schue turns to look at the rest of them. “I don’t want any of you to ask him any questions. None of you should have private medical information spread like gossip.”

There’s a few murmurs and nods and Schue runs his hand over his face, looking lost. Finn clears his throat a little. “Wouldn’t be glee club without some last minute drama before competition, right?” he says. A few faces show the hint of a smile. “Everybody’s just going to worry about their own business and we’re going to be just fine. Like we talked about before, we don’t all like each other all the time, but we’re a family. We love each other, even with mysterious medical conditions and pictures of tonsils and stupid fights. Now, all of you guys come over here.”

“Show choir huddle?” Rachel asks, with a little smile. 

“That’s right, Rach. Show choir huddle,” Finn says, returning her smile. Finn throws out an arm for Puck, pulling him forward, and Kurt steps up on Puck’s other side as everyone presses in close. Finn puts his other arm around Rachel, who grabs Tina, who pulls Mike in, until all of them are grouped together in a tight hug. The door opens and Quinn walks in, her face tear–streaked, freezing and staring at all of them, like she’s not sure if she should just turn around and walk back out the door. 

“Get in here, you silly bitch,” Santana says with a roll of her eyes, opening up the space between her and Mercedes. Quinn lets herself fold into the group embrace. “Okay, leader boy.”

“We’re gonna kick some ass and then there’s nothing between us and New York,” Finn says. “Let’s do this thing!”

Everyone hoots and cheers, including Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury, and most of them are smiling as they head into the auditorium to take their seats. Kurt leaves one hand on Puck’s back and holds them behind the others as they walk. “Are you okay?”

“It’s kicking in, so yeah. Ride home’s going to be interesting.”

Kurt nods thoughtfully. “Okay. Be good.”

Puck grins. “I’m always good, blue eyes.”

They sit down, and Puck finds himself still between Finn and Kurt. “You ok?” Finn says softly, leaning his head close to Puck’s ear. “I can find a box somewhere to stuff her in.”

Puck snorts and nods. “M’fine. Maybe not so much later.”

Finn drapes his arm across Puck’s shoulders, resting his palm over on Kurt’s. “But are you… ok? I mean, like, more in general.”

“It’s, um, pre-emptive? You remember what happened at Sectionals.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that was bad.”

“So, yeah. I’ll explain tonight, okay?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Finn says. “As long as you’re alright.”

Puck shrugs. “Might clear up a few things.” He grins. “Like when you thought Kurt was getting a heart transplant in Toledo.”

Finn smiles sheepishly. “Well, Pretzel.”

“Yeah, but the Toledo part was accurate. Traveling there, I mean. But it was for me.”

“Did you get a heart transplant?” Finn asks, grinning at Puck. “I hear they make robotic ones now.”

Puck snorts. “That, I did not do.”

“Too bad. I was hoping you got the one with the GPS. That might help you out in the City.”

“All you need is an iPhone. It even tells you when the next train is coming.”

“Yeah, but you can’t drop your heart into the toilet and ruin it, dude.”

“I haven’t had that problem with my phone yet.”

“Uh. Some people have that problem,” Finn says.

Puck grins. “Noted.” The lights go down and Puck rolls his eyes at the overly dramatic announcer voice. 

“Welcome to the 2012 Ohio Regional Show Choir Championships! Let’s meet our celebrity judges! Hoping to hear some of his favorite oldies, Richard Simmons!” The dude from one of his mom’s old workout tapes stands up and waves enthusiastically at all of them, doing a couple of jumping jacks. “Cleveland’s own maverick Congressman, Dennis Kucinich!” A short guy wearing a suit and a large peace sign on his lapel stands up and waves, then flashes them all the peace sign. “And finally, fresh off a recent book tour…” Puck doesn’t even hear the rest of the words as a painfully familiar person stands up. 

“Oh, man, _really_? The ugly blonde woman?” He can’t help saying, looking disgusted. “I hate her.”

“What? Who’s that?” Finn asks. “Why do you hate her? What’s wrong with her face, I think there’s something wrong with her face!”

“I know,” Kurt says, with a sigh. “Me too. I guess Rush was busy today.”

“She’s a bitch. I bet Quinn and her dad watch her together.”

“Is she the one who said poor people should eat their babies?” Finn asks.

“I have no idea,” Puck admits. “But she would pretty much hate everything about me, so.”

“And now, our first competitors, Aural Intensity!” The curtain comes up and Puck winces. 

“Those are awful.”

“They truly are,” Kurt shakes his head. “What were they thinking?”

The first strains of music echo, which Puck recognizes vaguely, and they go into some kind of swing dancing routine. It’s hard to spot April but he manages a few times. 

“Those outfits are _bad_ , aren’t they?” Finn asks. “I mean, even I can tell they’re bad. Their dancing isn’t awful, though.”

“No, but you kinda wonder if they’re doing the same kind of dancing for all three songs,” Puck frowns a little. “Didn’t they use this song on a commercial when we were kids?”

“Gap. Pants,” Kurt answers. “Something of a classic.”

“Hmm.” Puck shrugs as the song ends. “Wonder if any of them realize it.”

“They should have gone with Gap pants instead of those outfits,” Finn says.

Puck laughs. “Anything would have been better than that.” The next song starts and Puck shakes his head. “Really? Swing for all the dances?”

“I guess it sort of explains the costumes.”

“I think they took my same classes,” Finn says. “I can do that same dance.”

“No offense, dude, but that doesn’t speak highly of their choreography.”

Finn shrugs, not looking particularly offended. 

“So if we’ve already had ‘Jump, Jive, an’ Wail’ and ‘Put a Lid on It’, what’s next?” Kurt muses. 

“ ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’?” Puck ventures.

“Help us all.” Kurt sighs and shakes his head. 

But when the third song starts, it’s ‘Zoot Suit Riot’, and Puck can hear Artie laugh and say “Another Weird Al song” to Sam. 

There’s good applause for Aural Intensity, and then it’s intermission and time for them to file backstage and take their places. Puck takes a couple of deep breaths and sends a quick thank you out into the world to whomever came up with both BuSpar and Xanax. They stand off–stage waiting for the lights in the house to go down, the signal for them to take their places. 

An arm lands across Puck’s shoulders. Puck turns to look at Finn, who’s got his other arm lying across Kurt’s shoulders. “I love you guys,” Finn says. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Okay, Pop,” Kurt says with a grin. “That trophy is already ours.”

The lights flicker then, and the twelve of them walk onto stage, taking their positions for ‘Tubthumping’. 

Mike does the first spoken part, and then the girls turn around and start singing. 

_I get knocked down, but I get up again_  
You never gonna keep me down.  
I get knocked down, but I get up again  
You never gonna keep me down. 

Rachel dances to the front and sings their altered line. 

_Singing the night away, singing the night away_

It’s by far the most energetic choreography of their three songs, lots of leaning and partial falls, with Mike leaping into some kind of gymnastics move and then springing back to his feet. All the hours of practice are paying off, though, everyone in step and on the beat, including Finn, who manages to beam at all of them at the end of the song. Puck exchanges a quick grin with Kurt as they settle into their positions for ‘Waiting on the World to Change’, which Santana opens up. 

_Me and all my friends,_  
We're all misunderstood .  
They say we stand for nothing, and  
There's no way we ever could. 

_Now we see everything that's going wrong_  
With the world and those who lead it.  
We just feel like we don't have the means  
To rise above and beat it. 

The choreography is more like movement and less like dance steps for this one, which is kind of a relief. Puck manages to be one of the better male dancers by virtue of the fact that Artie’s in a wheelchair and Finn’s, well, Finn, but he’s glad the complicated stuff is over. 

Sam takes the next verse, staring spookily towards ugly blonde woman. 

_And when you trust your television_  
What you get is what you got.  
’Cause when they own the information, oh,  
They can bend it all they want. 

At the end of the song, they all end up in a line near the front of the stage, singing together. 

_One day our generation_  
Is gonna rule the population.  
So we keep on waiting,  
Waiting on the world to change. 

_We keep on waiting,  
Waiting on the world to change._

The music fades into the bridge and they all line up on the risers. Puck takes a deep breath and sneaks a look at Kurt, who nods once back at him, and then they look at Finn, who gives them both a shaky smile as the music begins, just before he starts to sing. 

_For those days we felt like a mistake,_  
Those times when love’s what you hate,  
Somehow,  
We keep marching on. 

_For those nights when I couldn't be there,_  
I've made it harder to know that you know  
That somehow,  
We'll keep moving on. 

They stay all facing stage left as Kurt’s voice joins Finn’s.

_There’s so many wars we fought,_  
There’s so many things we’re not,  
But with what we have,  
I promise you that 

All twelve of them turn forward in unison, singing the next lines as one. 

_We’re marching on_  
We’re marching on  
We’re marching on 

They all stop and face forward, Puck joining Kurt and Finn for the next portion. 

_For all of the plans we’ve made,_  
There isn’t a flag I’d wave,  
Don’t care if we bend,  
I’d sink us to swim 

And then they move again, still facing forward, for the chorus.

_We’re marching on_  
We’re marching on  
We’re marching on 

Everyone faces stage right, and Puck takes a deep breath. 

_For those doubts that swirl all around us,_  
For those lives that tear at the seams,  
We know  
We’re not what we’ve seen. 

_Oh,_  
For this dance we’ll move with each other,  
There ain’t no other step than one foot,  
Right in front of the other. 

Kurt’s clear voice joins his as the others are still silent, and Puck grins to himself.

_There’s so many wars we fought,_  
There’s so many things we’re not,  
But with what we have,  
I promise you that 

Maybe it’s just Puck, but everyone sounds even stronger than they did on the last chorus, stronger than they have in practice, as everyone turns to the audience again. 

_We’re marching on_  
We’re marching on  
We’re marching on 

There’s continued movement and harmonies as the three of them sing together.

_For all of the plans we’ve made_  
There isn’t a flag I’d wave,  
Don’t care if we bend,  
I’d sink us to swim. 

The next part is some kind of weird marching steps that Puck still doesn’t like, but it does make sense with the song, at least. 

_We’re marching on,_  
We’re marching on  
We’re marching on 

_Right, right, right, right left right_  
Right, right, right, right left right  
Right, right  
We’re marching on 

New Directions turns, en masse, backs to the auditorium, except for Puck, who starts to sing again. 

_We’ll have the days we break,  
And we’ll have the scars to prove it._

As he finishes, Finn turns to face forward, too.

_We’ll have the bombs that we save,  
But we’ll have the heart not to lose it._

Both of them step forward, down the risers, as in the front, Kurt turns to the front.

_For all of the times we’ve stopped,  
For all of the things we’re not._

Puck starts minutely at the change in the second line, from ‘I’m’ to ‘we’re’, then grins as Kurt joins them for the next part. 

_We put one foot in front of the other,_  
We move like we ain’t got no other.  
We go when we go,  
We’re marching on,  
marching on. 

_There’s so many wars we fought,_  
There’s so many things we’re not,  
But with what we have,  
I promise you that 

By now, the audience is keeping time with the snare, and the other nine turn forward as they all sing together, Kurt switching to the harmony line. 

_We're marching on,_  
(We're marching on)  
(We're marching on). 

_Right, right, right, right left right,_  
Right, right, right, left, right,  
Right, right,  
We're marching on.  
(We're marching on)  
(We're marching on). 

_Right, right, right, right left right,_  
Right, right, right, left, right,  
Right, right,  
We're marching on. 

As the last word fades, Kurt holds the final note of the harmony, stretching the “Oh” out until the music ends. The audience leaps to their feet, and Puck isn’t sure who initiates it, just that he finds himself in a threeway hug with Finn and Kurt, all three of them grinning as they’re swept off the stage in the midst of everyone, Finn saying, “You guys! You guys! I love you guys!” 

They clatter down the stairs, back to their green room, where Mr. Schuester is waiting, grinning broadly. “Wow, you guys! That was amazing! Just amazing. Great choreography, everyone stayed in sync, just, seriously you guys. _Wow_.”

“Everybody was _awesome_ out there today!” Finn calls, over the noise. “Mike, the dancing was spot on, dude. You got us through it! Artie, you’re a better dancer than all of Aural Intensity combined, and don’t you forget it, dude. Girls, never sounded better! Sam, I totally saw that look, man, and good on ya!” Finn grins at Mr. Schue over everyone else’s heads. “Next stop, Nationals, Mr. Schue!”

“I hope so!” Schue responds, laughing. “Let’s go back out there and see what the Liberteens brought to the table, anyway.”

When they get back to their seats, April scoots across the aisle and plops herself next to Puck. “Dudes! That last song was epic. How’d you three manage to score that?”

“Sheer persistence?” Puck offers with a laugh. 

“That was awesome.” April shakes her head. “No way we beat you guys. I have no idea why we went so thematic.”

“Maybe you got a deal on the costumes and your director worked backwards?” Kurt offers.

“Hmm. Maybe!” The lights go back down and April stays where she is, to Puck’s amusement. 

The Liberteens open with Gwen Stefani’s “Cool” and the most complex dancing Puck’s seen out of a show choir, including at Nationals. 

“Oh, shit!” Finn says, from the other side of Kurt. Kurt just gapes at the stage. Only one of them is singing, but their movements are crisp and coordinated. At the end of the song, Puck has to admit he has an uneasy feeling in his gut, but that could technically be the Xanax wearing off and everything else that’s been going on. 

They launch immediately, with barely a measure’s rest, into “Dance in the Dark,” and Kurt murmurs “Mama Monster” beside him. The dancing is just as complex, but they’re about a minute into it when April pokes him. 

“Their vocals are shit.”

Kurt hears her, too, and they both nod. “It’s like they only rehearsed the dancing,” Kurt whispers. 

“They sound really bad, Kurt,” Finn says. “And they look like they’re getting tired. Look, that guy on the end can’t pick her up any more!”

Puck nods. “That kind of dancing, you need to be working out, not just rehearsing the dancing.” As soon as he says it, he looks, horrified, at Kurt. 

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Finn says. “We should do that.” Puck just sighs and shakes his head. 

By the time the song comes to an end, the Liberteens are visibly tired, their voices petering out. Puck recognizes their third song immediately, the Pet Shop Boys’ version of “Always On My Mind”, which is a great song, but their vocals and tired bodies just can’t keep up with it. 

Still, they obviously put some effort into it, so everyone stands to applaud them, and then it’s out of the auditorium and back to the green room to wait for the judges’ decision. There’s a nervous hum of chatter, and Puck finds a seat in one corner. Kurt hands him a bottle of water a moment later and Puck grins as he opens it, taking a long drink. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Kurt sighs and drops onto the nearby sofa, scanning the room. “Tina looks like she’s about to burst with excitement.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, she kinda does.”

Mr. Schuester walks in just a few moments later. “All right, everyone, back onto the stage!” They clump together and make their way up onto the risers, flanked by the other two groups. April’s standing closest to them on the right and she winks. 

“Good luck,” she mouths. “New York or bust!”

Puck snorts back a laugh, and Kurt just grins, both of them turning their attention to Richard Simmons, who literally does jumping jacks as he heads to the microphone. “Hello, OHIO!” he screams out. “Our runners up are AURAL INTENSITY!” One of the sailor–suit–clad dudes walks forward to claim the trophy, and April turns to them. 

“You guys totally have this!”

“And now, the 2012 Ohio Regional Show Choir Champions, heading to New York City in May.” He rips open the envelope slowly. “The NEW DIRECTIONS!”

There’s a pair of really loud high screams that Puck immediately recognizes as Rachel and Kurt, followed by a whoop that he realizes belatedly was actually himself, and they’re all screaming and crying and clutching at each other, even Quinn and Mercedes. Finn does double victory fists and yells “Yes!”

Kurt’s humming to himself as they finally vacate the stage, the trophy clutched in Rachel’s hands. “…make a brand new start of it…” He catches Puck’s eye and grins. “New York, New York.”


	4. Supervised Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles follows through on his promise (he'd hoped March would never come).

“It’s kind of like watching mom and dad fight,” Miles says, buckling his seat belt. “Now _I_ feel traumatized.”

Rick nods his head fervently. “That was… upsetting, yeah.”

“You know what we need now? Milkshakes,” Miles decides. “And then I guess I have to hold up my end of that damn bargain.”

“Yeah you do,” Rick agrees. “It’s March and you promised. I’ll be really polite, just you watch.”

“Oh, I’ll be watching. I’m gonna get one of those nanny cams and set it up in your house. Mine, too.”

“That’s sorta disturbing, Brown. Now I feel all creeped out. That’s not cool,” Rick makes a face like maybe he’s considering flinging himself out of the moving vehicle. 

“Good. If you’re creeped out, you won’t be getting fresh with my little sister!”

“Come on, Brown. You know I’m a gentleman,” Rick says. “I _said_ I’d treat her real nice, open her doors and all of that. Anyway, maybe she’s not even gonna like me, so it might end up not being an issue, anyway.”

“Oh, she knows I don’t like this idea, so she’ll like you, all right,” Miles grumbles. “Dammit, all right, let’s get this over with. Alicia’ll kill me if we do milkshakes without her, anyway.”

“We could go get the milkshakes and bring one back for her,” Rick says. “Then she’ll like me better, ’cause I brought a milkshake.”

“Yeah, definitely going after I introduce you two.” Miles turns onto his street and mentally curses the fact that he lives so damn close to Karofsky. “All right.”

“Is there anything I should know before I talk to her?”

“My daddy don’t own a shotgun, but my momma does.”

“Well, see? Me and Alicia’ll have something to talk about then,” Rick says, grinning. “My momma does, too.”

Miles sighs. “Great. Something in common already.” Miles turns off the car and gets out, shaking his head. Before they walk into the house, Rick dusts off the front of his shirt and his jeans.

“I look alright?” Rick asks.

“Foots, you are _not_ my type,” Miles says. “Good grief. You’ve got clothes on, so I guess you’ll do.” He leads the way into the house through the garage and stops in the kitchen. “Alicia?”

“What?” Alicia calls from upstairs. “Thought you said you’d be gone all afternoon!”

“Well, lucky for you, I guess I changed my mind,” Miles says. “You come on down here.”

“If you’re trying to make me carry in groceries again, I’m taking a picture and texting Ma.” They can hear her moving upstairs, though, and then walking down the stairs. “Seriously. I’m not carrying in your junk food.”

“Quit your complaining or I’m gonna shove Foots here right back out the door,” Miles says. “You’re worse than Ma with the carrying on.”

“As Ma would say, I’ve learned from the best.” Alicia appears in the doorway and looks at the two of them appraisingly. “Daniel Rickenbacker. Sophomore, but not sixteen yet. Kicker on the football team. Miles says you used to be stupid, but that PFLAG cured you of that, mostly. A couple of my girlfriends say you’re a real nice guy in class.” She stops and smiles. “Alicia Brown. Nice to meet you.”

Rick looks flustered and a little overwhelmed, but he extends his hand. “Yes, ma’am, that’s pretty much me,” he says. Alicia takes his hand and her smile gets a little bigger. 

“You’re polite, too, Daniel.”

“Mostly everybody calls me Rick,” Rick explains.

“Well, that’s nice, Daniel.” Alicia looks over at Miles. “All right, you can go now.”

“What? Hell, no, I’m not going anywhere! What is this crazy talk?” Miles shakes his head. “Foots isn’t allowed to be in here with you unsupervised. I said he was just _barely_ cured of being stupid. He might backslide.”

“Now, I can tell he’s a gentleman,” Alicia says, the faintest hint of a smirk on her face. “Surely you trust your friend and your sister?”

“You know, Brown, if you wanted to go and get those milkshakes, that’d be alright,” Rick suggests. “I’ll look after Alicia while you’re gone.”

“See?” Alicia grins. “Milkshakes! That sounds perfect, Miles. I bet Ma will even pay you back for them when she finds out what a good host you’re being.”

Miles drops his head to his chest and heaves a sigh. “Alicia, there is no way I’m leaving you alone with him. He has all kinds of questionable opinions, and who knows what he’ll tell you without me here to supervise.”

“I’m more concerned with what you’ll tell me,” Alicia counters. 

“Brown, you should tell her what you were saying to me about Kanye earlier,” Rick says. “When we were over at Karofsky’s place.”

“Oh? What did he say?” Alicia asks, looking interested. 

“He thinks it’s okay to interrupt a lady,” Rick says. “We strongly disagree on that subject.”

“Miles, I have told you. Kanye is not an example of how all men should act.” Alicia shakes her head. “You just have to learn to ignore him, Daniel. Tune in about every twenty-fifth word to make sure he hasn’t moved on to a new subject.”

“Alicia, don’t be telling that boy things like that!” Miles says. “I only just broke him of his habit of staring off into space and running into telephone poles.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop it. You’re insufferable. Daniel, I don’t believe these lies. He lies. It’s just what he does. My ma used to try washing his mouth out with Ivory soap, but that didn’t help.”

“She’s gotta use the industrial strength stuff. That’s what my momma used,” Rick says. “Not on me or anything. My little brother’s got a potty mouth.”

“Foots, sometimes I don’t even know why I bother,” Miles says, sighing. “Since I’m not about to leave you two alone together, how about we just all pack up and we’ll go get milkshakes now?”

“Fine,” Alicia replies serenely. “Daniel and I will sit in the back seat.”

“Just like in that movie, Brown!” Rick says. “You love that movie.”

“Shut up, Foots,” Miles says. “You just shut up about that movie.”


End file.
